Eclipse
by DoraMouse
Summary: Android creation explained, human potential expanded upon and the details of world politics examined. Set between the Freezia and Cell sagas, explodes the effects of the Garlic Jr. saga. Recommended for fans of the first Dragonball series. In progress.
1. Prelude: November 3rd, 762 AD

_**Eclipse**_

**by DoraMouse**

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Dragonball/Z/GT but I do own this story.

**ooxoo**

**Prelude: November 3rd, 762 A.D.**

**E**arth had never been a peaceful place. _Never. _Not even for one-billionth of a nanosecond.

An estimated five billion years ago, the planet called Earth had been created as a direct result of a large star exploding. Various forces of nature had been constantly rearranging the landscape ever since. Humans and other animals had, of course, eventually contributed to the ongoing natural cycle of violence as well. Creatures had been hunting each other since the beginning. Securing food, claiming territory, establishing social order - it was all about survival. No matter how people tried to deny it, in this regard humans had much in common with other animal species. Corner any animal and the creature will either fight or attempt to flee. Threaten humans and they will do the same.

But the humans hadn't been able to run away this time. No. This time the threat had come to them.

From outer space.

Aliens. Hostile alien warriors. Earlier in the afternoon, two aliens had landed in a marketplace in East Capital City. They'd promptly leveled the surrounding area. Earths Special Forces - six of the Earths best martial artists, plus a much-feared green demon and an abnormally strong child that no one had heard of before - had confronted the aliens and had, on live television, been more or less massacred. The four surviving members of Earths Special Forces were currently hospitalized in Satan City.

If legendary warriors capable of flying and shooting energy beams were vulnerable then how were ordinary people supposed to feel? What if there were more aliens? What if the other aliens were even _stronger_? How were the people of Earth supposed to defend themselves?

The simple answer was that they couldn't.

"And that is not acceptable." Said a young man attired in traditional costume.

Once upon a time, every wealthly family on Earth had employed its own private army. Wars between clans had been frequent - almost a daily affair. And then, just over two hundred years ago, several of the more powerful clans had united and made notoriously short work of their opposition. After some quick but bloody internal conflicts were settled, a surviving warlord had declared himself the World Emperor. His allies had become the World Government and their clans formed the bulk of the Imperial Army. The few surviving enemies had almost immediately banded together to become a rebel organization known as the Red Ribbon Army.

But now, in light of this new threat...

"Earth is our responsibility. We must find a way to defend it. To do otherwise would disgrace our ancestors and all that they accomplished." The current World Emperor, a direct descendant of the original, explained. "Which is why I have invited you all here today."

It was an emergency meeting. Amid the generals and politicians of the Imperial World Court stood a cluster of people wearing starched lab coats over dark uniforms. Printed neatly on the fabric of their clothing was a logo made from two red triangles facing each other. These were the scientists of the Red Ribbon Army.

Thirteen years ago, a young boy named Goku had destroyed the Red Ribbon Headquarters without pausing to realize that the Red Ribbon Army was an international organization. Thus Red Ribbon still had active sectors all over the world. Sectors that young Goku had probably never heard of. The Red Ribbon scientists - whose experimental work was frequently illegal - had always been especially secretive.

"Our clans have been enemies in the past but times have changed and so must we." The World Emperor announced charismatically, "It is in our best interests to work together and defend Earth."

The World Government had considered other options. Their very first phone calls had been to the worlds leading technology company, Capsule Corporation. The company had been asked to provide assistance in designing a planetary defense program. Capsule Corp executives - always wary of the government - had politely refused. Something about the construction of weapons being against company policy.

A problem with Capsule Corp was that the companys income rivaled the World Governments own. So Capsule Corp couldn't be bought. And taking the company to court would likely prove a useless expense. The other main problem with Capsule Corp was that they completely and utterly dominated the technology industry. No one could compete. There were a handful of smaller tech companies but most of those just sold things like televisions, stereos and home computers. And more than a few of those small businesses had contracts with Capsule Corp because they didn't actually make the products they sold - Capsule Corp did. Besides, the smaller companies just couldn't handle large scale jobs. Not with any degree of consistancy. Not even with the help of government funding.

This had posed a geniune crisis. How was the World Government supposed to design and implement a planetary defense system without help from Capsule Corp?

Much to the governments own surprise, the answer had shown up on their doorstep. Literally. It really was quite remarkable. A collection of known rebels coming up to the gates of the World Palace and saying: "We heard about what happened. Need any help?" Although suspicious of Red Ribbons true motives, the World Government couldn't afford to turn them down. The Red Ribbon Army dealt in blackmarket technology and - legal issues aside - that happened to make them the closest thing to a rival that Capsule Corp had.

This was a fragile alliance but the World Government hoped to make the most of it.

A legal advisor stepped forward, bowed and read from a scroll. "Let it be known that upon this date, the third of November in the year seven hundred and sixty-two, that by the authority of His Supreme Majesty Kyoto Amaterasu, the rebel organization known as the Red Ribbon Army and all members therein are pardoned..."

There were, of course, strings attached but what it essentially came down to was: 'help us and we'll ignore your extensive criminal history.' With an added clause that translated to: 'however, we reserve the right to basically do anything we want to you if you upset us.' The World Government was capable of enforcing this much since the Red Ribbon Army wasn't actually an army anymore. Most of the Red Ribbon soldiers had been lost thirteen years ago when young Goku had invaded the rebel headquarters.

Silence hung over the room for a few moments after the proclaimation had been read.

Then a tall elderly man spoke. The Red Ribbon logo worn over his heart. "On behalf of all my comrades, I thank you. You will not be disappointed."

A military officer addressed the Red Ribbon spokesman. "Is it true that you already have designs for the planetary defense system?"

"Oh yes." The old mans eyes were full of a confidence that his voice magnified. His chest puffed out with pride. "Yes. We most certainly have designs. In fact..." He turned.

The Red Ribbon scientists had brought something with them. In size and shape, it resembled a coffin. A small metal coffin with handles on the sides. The Red Ribbon scientists had handcuffed themselves to it. The Imperial Guards, after numerous searchs and heated debates, had grudgingly allowed the object to be brought into the palace. Under the elderly mans supervision, the case was opened and tilted upright at an angle that made its contents visible.

"What is that?!" The World Emperor recoiled a step, his expression a blend of disgust and alarm.

Numerous burly guards tensed. Each one grasping at their weapons in a way that made it clear that the Red Ribbon scientists would be leaving the room in very small pieces if they didn't behave.

Dr. Gero, a man who from the looks of things hadn't even come close to smiling for the past decade, smirked. "Your Majesty, this is an android."

It looked like a child. A regular human child. A young boy with short dark hair. Casually dressed in faded jeans and an oversized t-shirt. Eyes closed as if sleeping peacefully but so still... The boy didn't breathe. A corpse. With various implements protruding from the skin and the skin itself having a strange metallic hue.

"That is going to defend Earth?!" The military officer shared the Emperors dismay.

"No. No, of course not." Dr. Gero hurried to explain. He was fully aware that androids were illegal to build and that he was risking a lot just by being here. But he was also aware that his reputation as a brilliant scientist overshadowed his rather petty criminal history. "This is just a prototype. Harmless. If the androids are to defend us from aliens then they'll have to be stronger." He pointed to a television mounted on the wall of the conference room. The current news segment was recapping the fights that had taken place earlier in the afternoon. Showing pictures of the various members of Earths Special Forces as well as images of the two aliens who had caused so much destruction. "Stronger than those fellows, for a start."

Dr. Gero paused to run his fingertips through his thick grey mustache, the only outward sign he gave of being nervous. "It will take time, of course. Not a cheap project either. But if you want this planet defended properly, no half-measures... We can do it."

With a flourish, the android case was sealed once more. The silent group of Red Ribbon scientists lifted the case between them. Sensing that the meeting was drawing to a close - for now, all that had needed saying had been said - they began to depart. "You'll need to think it over. We understand." Dr. Gero remarked as he was leaving. "But don't linger in thought too long Your Majesty. After all, for all that we know, the next batch of bloodthirsty aliens may already be on their way."

**ooxoo**


	2. Spark: January 1st, 763 AD

_**Eclipse**_

**by DoraMouse**

**ooxoo**

**Spark: January 1st, 763 A.D.**

**T**he agreement was already two months old but the media had only just been informed of it. A photo of Dr. Gero and the World Emperor shaking hands was now front page material for practically every magazine, newspaper and tabloid on Earth. However the headlines themselves were diverse, ranging from outraged criticism to loyal support. More than once a reporter had asked why Capsule Corporation was sitting idle in times like these. So far the Capsule Corp employees had refused to comment on the issue, preferring to focus instead on the companies contributions to rebuilding East Capital City.

The general public was full of questions.

Can we trust the Red Ribbon Army? Should we even give them a chance? What if they try to overthrow the World Government? What sort of defense system do they have in mind anyway? How much will all this cost? Where will the money come from? Why doesn't Capsule Corp say something, what secrets are they keeping? Is Red Ribbon even truly capable of defending the Earth?

The last inquiry was the one that Red Ribbon Army members took the most pride in answering. And the answer was: Yes.

Because thirteen years ago an irritating little boy had destroyed the original Red Ribbon Headquarters. This disaster had made the surviving factions of the Red Ribbon Army realize that, especially when your enemy was Son Goku, standard weapons were useless. Guns, bombs, missiles... Most of the old Red Ribbon Headquarters had been destroyed accidentally. Soldiers hadn't been able to shoot fast enough to hit Goku so they'd ended up hitting everything else instead. A bullet didn't care what it shot. A bomb didn't care what it blew up.

What we need, a surviving Red Ribbon supervisor had told his minions, is something smarter than a bomb. Something that knows the difference between an enemy and an ally. Something that can think its way out of tricky situations or scout ahead and send back useful information. Something practically human. Or superhuman.

Androids?

Red Ribbon had in fact been working on robots anyway. Not as weapons, though.

Built back in 733 A.D. Android 1 had been a relatively simple design - affectionately described as a vacuum cleaner on tank treads - that could be programmed to do a few minor industrial chores. However Android 1 had been put together hastily and as a result, had lasted less than a month before falling apart. Over the following thirty years the Red Ribbon Army had gradually expanded every aspect of their android research program. The next six androids - Androids 2 through 7 - had gotten steadily more complex. Ever more humanoid in both appearance and behavior. Which meant that each android took longer to build but also lasted longer and was able to do more.

Android 5 had been the first one capable of both speaking and responding to voice commands. Prior to Android 5, commands had been given via remote control. After Android 5, the androids vocabulary was constantly being increased.

Thirteen years ago, Android 8 had been the first of his kind programmed with basic fighting skills. He had also been the first android to demonstrate true sentience. Android 8 had not only refused to obey a direct order, he had defected completely. He had left the Red Ribbon Army. The Red Ribbon Army didn't consider Android 8 worth going after but his betrayal had influenced their attitude towards androids in general. Androids made since then had been designed with a great deal more care in regards to how much independance they were allowed. Progress had been slow. Thirteen years of research and hard work had only yielded four additional androids. There were just so many variables involved and the process was always changing. The Red Ribbon scientists were constantly rehashing the details. Fine tuning, they called it. Experimenting.

What materials to use? Should the androids outer 'skin' be made of the same stuff as the internal parts? Would the materials be flexible without being brittle? Strong without being too heavy or cumbersome? Might the joints be in danger of melting on a hot day or freezing up on a cold one? Did the material resist water enough to prevent the android from rusting? What was the perfect ratio of DNA to metal and plastic parts? What was the best method for fusing all the different parts together? Were glass eyes better than real ones? Were computer chips more reliable than organic brain cells? Did an android really need a stomach, a heart, a set of lungs or any other vital organs? Should an android have oil circulating through its body instead of blood? Did having genetic material make androids vulnerable to human diseases?

How humanoid should an android look? How much armor was enough? How much intelligence did an android need? What fighting styles should each android be programmed with? What weapons could be added to their bodies?

And last but certainly not least: would the androids be strong enough?

**ooxoo**

**I**n a dimly lit corridor hidden beneath the northern desert of Earth stood a little girl. With a mechanical whirr, the steel door in front of her slid down into the floor. She marched across the threshold and waited in an empty windowless room. Feet apart. Arms at her sides. She wore loose sweatpants and a sleeveless shirt, both plain gray. A thin red headband served two purposes - it kept her indigo bangs out of her face and also displayed a pair of logos. Red Ribbon Army and something else.

A speaker mounted high on the wall blared to life as a voice came over the intercom. The room hummed with the electricity of hidden cameras that were recording the session.

"Proto3A..."

This was the girls technical name. She was not an android. She was a purely genetic creation - the result of another process that Red Ribbon was experimenting with. Just over four years ago this little girl had been a fetus growing in a test tube. She'd been injected with scraps of DNA taken from some of the strongest warriors on Earth. Without their permission.

"Proto421D..."

An android prototype was wheeled into the opposite side of the room and left there, propped up.

"Commence materials test."

Red Ribbons logic behind this exercise was that if they could create something as strong as the Earths Special Forces without actually having to involve the Earths Special Forces... It would just make their lives easier. Because the members of Earths Special Forces weren't likely to volunteer for such trials. Besides, the tests allowed the Red Ribbon Army to train the genetic creations against the androids so that they could compare the data. The research was vital. The organization couldn't afford to divide its attention forever. Sooner or later the Red Ribbon scientists would have to choose one project and focus on developing it as best they could. Androids or genetics - which was stronger, which would get the job done?

The girl blurred forward and vanished. Less than a second later, she reappeared. Standing in the same ready position as before. As if nothing had happened.

The android lay on the other side of the room with a hole punched through its midsection.

"Reject." Announced the intercom and the person who had wheeled the android into the room seconds earlier appeared to reclaim it so that the parts could be reused.

"Proto422D..."

Another robot was wheeled in and the process continued. If any of the prototype androids actually survived the materials test - the ability to take a direct hit without crumbling - then they would be activated and a new phase of fighting would begin to determine how well the android was programmed.

Genetic creations like the little girl had only been defeated three times in the past four years. The victorious prototype androids had been renamed: Android 10, Android 11 and Android 12.

"Reject." The voice on the intercom sighed. "Damn, how is she getting through that?"

The person reclaiming the broken robots was a small boy with dark hair, shiny skin and ice blue eyes. He wore a short labcoat over his casual jeans and t-shirt. "Try not to look so bored." He advised in a whisper. "Anyway. Like I was telling you, I didn't get to see much of the World Palace."

The girl rolled her eyes. All three of them. "But I AM bored." She grumbled. "Why don't _you_ spar with me?"

Android Nine cringed at this idea. He hadn't been designed for combat. "I don't know how to fight."

"I could show you." The girl seemed eager for any break from routine. "It's not that hard." After a pause she added, in perfect imitation of the scientists who'd made her: "You're not scared of a little girl, are you?"

The top eleven warriors on Earth were all male. So the Red Ribbon scientists had deliberately injected DNA taken from five of them into a female fetus. Partially because girls were supposed to be slightly easier to raise but mostly because they expected everyone on Earth to underestimate a little girl.

"No talking." Scolded the voice on the intercom. "We've got a lot of work to do. Nine, hurry up and get Proto423D."

"This is stupid!" The girl stomped her foot for emphasis, an action that left hairline cracks in the concrete floor.

"Ranshin!" Her senseis voice this time, disappointed.

She narrowed her eyes and bowed her head. Forcing herself to calm down. Simply having a real name was a privilage in this place, she didn't want to risk it being taken away. "Sensei..."

The Crane Master. The second logo on her headband.

"Don't waste time!" Her sensei snapped.

He hadn't always been this insensitive, it was only the last month or so. The whole prospect of aliens really upset him for some reason. Or maybe it was something else. It was hard to be certain. The Crane Master viewed his students as tools, not friends. He didn't confide in them.

Ranshin turned on her heels, her long indigo braid whipping out behind her with the force of the sudden movement. "Proto3A." She growled as she dropped into her customary waiting stance, "Ready."

**ooxoo**


	3. Flicker: March 22nd, 763 AD

_**Eclipse**_

**by DoraMouse**

**ooxoo**

**Flicker: March 22nd, 763 A.D.**

Spring. The chirp of insects, the smell of flowers on a warm breeze... The air was charged with energy.

It was good to get outdoors.

Ranshin glanced from the mansion estates around her to the distant lights of the city beyond. _Wonder how it looks during the day. _She thought.

Trips that required going outside had been infrequent in her lifetime. Trips during the day had been rarer still. Apparently the world wasn't safe during the day - that's what she'd been told. Regular people didn't want to see a little girl with three eyes. Especially not if she could also hover. Ranshin didn't know if regular people were truly as prejudiced as her sensei had made them out to be but she didn't care to find out either. Regular people - daytime people, people who lived in houses instead of underground tunnels. Even if regular people were nice to her then Ranshin wasn't sure how she would react to them. It would be weird.

She shook her head, trying to ignore the symptoms of a pending headache so that she could focus on levitating. Her sensei would be back soon. Ranshin wanted to have some improvement to show him otherwise he'd never agree to teach her any more energy attacks.

The throbbing that had begun at the back of her skull inched forward. Ranshin wrinkled her nose and shut all three of her eyes tightly, stubbornly remaining airborn. Stupid headaches... It didn't make any sense to her. Why did the headaches always come when she was outside? She loved being outdoors. Maybe some stretches would help.

She pulled her legs up under her and wrapped her hands around her feet, gently pressing the bottoms of her shoes towards each other.

It skipped across her mind right then. Not even a coherant idea. Just... An instinct. A presence. Something was wrong. She wasn't sure what but... Wait. Yes. She did know. She wasn't sure how she knew. She just felt it. A cold shiver darted down her spine and her throat went dry. There weren't words. It was an uncomfortable feeling.

This had never happened before. Ranshin sat up and rubbed her arms, not sure what to make of the experience. Maybe it had just been a daydream? Or maybe she'd dozed off? She couldn't have really seen... No. That was silly. That didn't make any sense. People didn't just see things in their heads. People didn't just suddenly know things.

Did they?

Abruptly the world seemed like a huge frightening place full of intimidating mysteries. Ranshin didn't want to sit alone in the pre-dawn air anymore. "Sensei?" She hissed while telling herself that what she'd seen in her mind - what she felt - it wasn't real. It couldn't be real. Maybe she was sick? Maybe this was what happened when people got the flu or...

Which way had the Crane Master gone? Her mind didn't remember but her feet seemed to. Ranshin walked a short distance then stopped in her tracks. The hair on the back of her neck was bristling, something was out there. Every instinct that she had warned her not to go any further.

The air wasn't just charged with energy here, it was vibrating. Ranshin could feel it. There was something intensely sinister about the way the air moved.

Her heart skipped a beat.

Ranshin yelped and staggered backwards in surprise. She knew that attack! That was one of the attacks she'd been trying to learn!

Oh no...

Everything Ranshin felt clashed with everything she thought. New urgency gave her courage to run forward. "Sensei!" It had to be. He knew the attack. He could use it. But at his age... And why? What had happened? What had gone wrong?! "Sensei!"

It was so dark. That, at least, could be fixed. Still running forward, Ranshin powered up. A pale green aura outlined her small figure and illuminated the area around her.

The Crane Master would be upset with her for risking the attention of outsiders. Not just the regular people who didn't know how to deal with glowing little girls but THEM. The Crane Master had always warned her: "Don't power up, they'll find you. You're not ready for THEM yet." That was all that Ranshin knew on the subject. If she powered up then apparently some evil monsters would find her. Ranshin wasn't sure how they'd find her or why anybody should care if she powered up but... The world was full of strange things. Ranshin doubted that she would ever understand.

She tried to keep her voice low, wanting to be heard but not by any of the wrong people. Slowing her pace so that she could search. "Tsuru-sennin?" She pleaded, resorting to his more formal title.

He wouldn't have left, would he? Not without her. Could he? No. He wouldn't have done that. He'd threatened to but he couldn't have meant it, he wasn't that mean. Was he? No. He would have at least said something. Although, he had been in a bad mood for the past few months. But maybe that was just how old people were.

The image flickered across her brain again and her feet dragged her off. Ranshin didn't know where she was going. Well, actually she did. She knew. Again. And once again, she wasn't sure how she knew. It was all very confusing.

She arrived. Her dark eyes settled upon the scene that her brain had already shown her twice.

How? How had she known? She didn't understand. It was... Scary. Being right. If she'd been wrong, that would have been easier to accept. Then the mental images could have been dimissed. But the visions were right, the visions had been accurate. Ranshin stood with her expression frozen somewhere between fascination and terror. The sight in front of her wasn't anywhere near as daunting as the realization that somehow she'd known exactly what she was going to see before she'd actually seen it.

A shadow engulfed her. Someone standing behind. Ranshin turned without hesitation.

"Hello." The stranger said in a tone of mild surprise. A middle-aged man with short brown hair. He wore a fighting uniform but no logos were visible on his clothes. "Funny, the old man didn't mention any prodigys hanging about."

Ranshin caught the meaning of the words even though the vocabulary was a bit over her head. "You killed Tsuru-sennin." She said bluntly. She knew it was true. But for some reason, she didn't feel all that upset. Or threatened.

The stranger arced an eyebrow. "Ah. I see." He muttered to himself then he smiled. "Oh and yes. We had a slight disagreement. Sorry. Here, let me make it up to you."

After a moment Ranshin blinked, startled. Her headache had vanished. Somehow, she knew, the stranger had done it.

"You didn't realize that you were psychic, did you?"

Her blank stare quickly soured.

"I'm not calling you names." The man clarified. "Psychic means..." He paused, "Uhm..." It had obviously been a while since he'd had to explain the term.

Ranshins scowl faded back into confusion. "I think I know what you mean." She admitted, raising a hand to the side of her face. Palm out. Fingers splayed.

"What are you-" The mans voice jumped a pitch and he held his hands out as if to deflect a punch. "No! Don't attack! Why fight over the old mans honor? Don't you see? He was blocking your talents! He was holding you back! You should thank me!"

"Thanks." said Ranshin. "Now die."

But she didn't announce an attack.

Tsuru-sennin had been her sensei. Aside from martial arts, he'd taught her how to read. And he'd been nice occasionally. Whenever the Red Ribbon Army was talking about cutting costs and getting rid of a few projects, Tsuru-sennin had always convinced the scientists that Ranshin might prove useful someday. That she should be allowed to survive a while longer. That was another thing - he'd named her. She wasn't even sure what the name 'Ranshin' meant but it sounded infinitely better than 'Proto3A'.

A teachers death was supposed to be an insult to the students honor. But... Ranshin didn't know. She felt... Confused. Deeply confused.

The Crane Master had been old. He'd had a long life. And there was no outward proof of murder. It was as if he'd died naturally. A student couldn't be expected to avenge a natural death, could they?

Ranshin buried her face in her hands. Where had THOSE thoughts come from?! SHE hadn't thought that, had she? What an awful empty way to feel about someone who, mean or not, had basically taken care of her. And she KNEW that he'd been murdered. The stranger had openly admitted...

Suddenly her mind was blank. Her thoughts, her emotions... Not gone. Just distant. Muffled. Like grass buried under a thick blanket of snow.

A capsule was thrown down. An aircar appeared, a sleek silver vehicle that hovered further off the ground than Ranshin ever had. The Crane Masters body was placed inside a different capsule and collected, pocketed. There would be no evidence.

"Get in."

Her brain screamed against it but her legs went anyway. As if something else was controlling them. Which happened to be the case.

_So much potential,_ the man thought as he revved the aircar engine, _so little skill._ No wonder the Crane Master had been blocking her psychic talents. The old man had probably been afraid of her. "Call me Sensei from now on." He instructed without taking his eyes off the sky ahead. The girl was going to hate him for a bit but... Well... Most of his students did at some point. Nothing new there.

**ooxoo**


	4. Gleam: March 29th, 763 AD

_**Eclipse**_

**by DoraMouse**

**ooxoo**

**Gleam: March 29th, 763 A.D.**

_**T**__suru-sennin._ A single word scratched on the surface of a flat rock. And then, beneath that, just in case anyone doubted the more formal title - _The Crane Master._

In respectful silence, Ranshin placed the rock in the shade of a tree. Inadequacy gnawed at her. She wanted to write more on the rock. She wanted to use several rocks if she had to. But what to write?

The Crane Master. What had his real name been? What had his age been? Did he have any friends or relatives who were still alive? Had Tsuru-sennin ever done anything other than act grouchy, work with the Red Ribbon Army and teach martial arts? Had he really been blocking Ranshins talents and if so, why?

Ranshin was just over four years old. She didn't have all the answers. She didn't even have all the questions.

She sighed, picked up another rock and painstackingly scratched: _He knew how to fly _across the surface. She put the second rock by the first and sat there, trying to decide how to feel.

How was she supposed to feel about someone that she hadn't really known all that well? And what if Ranshin had insisted on going with her sensei instead of staying behind to practice hovering? Would things have worked out differently? Would Tsuru-sennin still be alive? Would Ranshin still belong to the Red Ribbon Army?

Was it somehow her fault that the Crane Master was dead?

It had only happened a week ago. The longest week of Ranshins life. She wanted closure. She wanted guidance. She wanted to know precisely how and why her former sensei had died. She wanted to know if these were normal feelings to have.

And she wondered if the Red Ribbon Army had noticed her absence. Would they look for her? Would they look for Tsuru-sennin? What if they found her? What could she say?

She didn't know.

The world, or at least what Ranshin had seen of it in the past week, was a confusing place. Ranshin missed the Red Ribbon Army. True, with Red Ribbon there had always been a lot of rules and strict schedule to live by but Ranshin had never known anything else. She missed the routines of daily life. In her new home, she never knew what she'd be eating or when. There wasn't a specific time set aside for training or studying or sleeping. And 'free time' - what in the world was the point of free time? She didn't understand it at all.

It was a bit overwhelming. Ranshin was accustomed to being treated as a genetic creation, an experiment. Not a person. Someone who took orders. Not someone who got to make their own decisions.

A smidge more than anything else, Ranshin felt like she'd lost something. Not just her sensei but his plans. The Crane Master had always told the Red Ribbon Army that Ranshin might be useful one day - but useful for what exactly? What had his goals been? With her sensei dead, Ranshin doubted that she would ever know. And without the Red Ribbon Army... It was hard. What was her purpose in life now? What was she meant to do?

Maybe she should just go back to Red Ribbon. Granted, punching holes in prototype androids wasn't much of a destiny but it was better than nothing.

Besides, she missed the other genetics.

It was... Different. Having her own room. Having her own anything. Ranshin was only starting to appreciate the concept of privacy. While she didn't mind having her own space, she wasn't completely used to it yet and the loneliness - another new feeling - was unbearable at times. At Red Ribbon Army labs, Ranshin had been Proto3A. Just another experiment. She had shared a room with the other genetic children, most of whom had also been female. Proto2A, Proto4A, Proto6A, Proto7A... It had been like having sisters. Family. Sort of.

There weren't many of them anymore. There had only ever been around ten genetics to begin with and now there were gaps in the numbers. Ranshin had never met Proto1A, apparently that child had died of complications long before Ranshins own 'birth'. On the other hand, Proto5A - one of the only males that Red Ribbon had created - had been killed in Ranshins lifetime.

Androids. If a genetic child could not punch a hole through a prototype android then the android would be turned on. And the androids had weapons built into them. And the genetic children were not bulletproof. Yet Ranshin couldn't make herself hate the androids. Death was just a part of life. Part of the experiment. Part of the risk.

Or att least, that's how Ranshin had always viewed it before. But a week of being outside the Red Ribbon labs had affected her. She sat wondering about her former sensei and the thoughts grew from there. Why did anyone have to die? Why did the genetics need to be stronger than the androids? Why did the androids need to have weapons? Why was the Red Ribbon Army building things that were designed to kill other things? Maybe the adults were afraid of something. Maybe they knew something Ranshin didn't. Maybe if she knew what they knew, their actions would make sense. Somehow, she doubted it. Adults had never been very good at making sense.

Red Ribbon Army had given her... Well. A lot. Food, clothes, shelter. Life. Ranshin was grateful for that. But she'd always been just another project there. Just Proto3A.

Maybe she shouldn't go back.

Ranshin wasn't sure what she wanted from life. She'd never had to think about it before. She hoped to stay alive long enough to figure her ambitions out. Could she stay alive if she went back to Red Ribbon? Could she stay alive if she didn't?

It had been a week.

Sensei Jitsugen, the middle-aged man with short brown hair who had killed the Crane Master, could have probably killed Ranshin by now if he'd really wanted to. But Ranshin was still alive. Her new teacher - that's what Sensei Jitsugen kept insisting he was - had been nothing but pleasant. Evasive at times and unwilling to answer certain questions but nice. Almost too nice. Ranshin didn't know what to think of him. All that Sensei Jitsugen had told her about the events of last week was that he hadn't really meant to kill the Crane Master. Her former sensei had been old, in poor health and out of practice. An argument between the adults had caused Tsuru-sennin to attack. Unfortunately the older man had used too much of his energy at once and the result had killed him.

Ranshin hadn't said so out loud but she didn't believe this.

Tsuru-sennin had always claimed that people who put all of their energy into one or two big attacks were morons that deserved to die. Ranshin had heard this lecture many times, it had been the Crane Masters favorite lecture to give. So why would Tsuru-sennin go against a teaching that he had believed so strongly in? Why would he put all his energy into one big attack? Had he intended to die?

Four year olds are rarely so thoughtful. But Ranshin was not an average child. She was not even an average genetic creation. She was, in many ways, a fluke. An accident. The Red Ribbon Army had designed her but she'd turned out a little different than expected.

Ranshin didn't know this. But Sensei Jitsugen did.

**ooxoo**

**H**e sat by the window, staring with an expression of mixed disbelief and confusion out at the garden behind his dojo where the child was.

Earth was populated by all kinds of creatures. Regular animals. Animals that could talk. Humans. Humanoids. Dinosaurs. Aliens. All kinds of crossbreeds. Sensei Jitsugen had seen mermaids before. He knew that there was a village of centaurs living in a remote mountain valley. He knew that humans were sometimes born without a nose, a thumb or teeth - all depending on the nature of their mixed heritage. He knew that people could be born with fur or a tail or whiskers or claws or webbed toes or fangs or gills or fins or animal-style ears. Humans could even be born with just one eye.

But three?

A triclops was not supposed to be possible. Not at birth. Every book he'd read, every expert he'd called - they had all said the same thing. A third eye was a spiritual gift. Something that had to be earned after birth. Because in theory...

People were born psychic. People were born sensitive to energy. All people. Everyone. It was an accepted fact among the professional psychics on Earth. Children could see ghosts, angels and auras more easily than adults. But as the average child grew up, they forgot. They learned to tune these things out. Adults were the skeptics. Adults discouraged the children from using their natural talents. Since children wanted to fit into adult society, the kids eventually stopped trying to see ghosts and angels and so forth. The kids would gradually forget that they'd ever been capable of seeing such things.

Triclops were different.

Having a third eye increased spiritual awareness. An adult who had already outgrown their inherent psychic powers could earn a third eye to regain some of what they'd lost. But boosting the awareness of a child who hadn't learned to tune the spiritual world out...

A child born with a third eye should, by all accounts, be a monster.

Sensei Jitsugen regarded Ranshin with a hint of dismay. She wasn't supposed to be possible, yet there she was. Right in his own back yard. And, according to every piece of information he had, she was supposed to be a monster. Yet she honestly didn't seem like one.

Where had the Crane Master found this kid? Why had he blocked her psychic talents? Had the Crane Master been afraid of Ranshin becoming a monster? Or had he been trying to control her? Or both? Sensei Jitsugen didn't know. And neither did Ranshin. There wasn't any point in asking her, he'd already searched her mind. It was a risk to leave the kid alive. But as long as she didn't seem like a threat... How could he justify killing her?

He couldn't.

Perhaps the theories were wrong. Maybe a child born with a third eye was as normal as anyone else. There was only one way to be certain. He'd just have to keep the kid around.

**ooxoo**


	5. Shadows: May 3rd, 763 AD

_**Eclipse**_

**by DoraMouse**

**ooxoo**

**Shadows: May 3rd, 763 A.D.**

**H**ealth enthusiasts all over Earth had long been aware of something called ki. The precise definition of _ki_ had been the source of much debate over the years but the simple meaning of the term was _personal energy_. The ability of a healthy person to project their presence, their spirit and their mood. Healers, magicians, priests, artists, warriors... Nearly everyone had heard of ki, if only in passing. Some people claimed to be able to see the auras that surrounded living creatures - such auras were often invisible due to the low level of ki that creatures had. And it was rumored that the top warriors on Earth could even detect ki.

The top warriors on Earth. _Them._ So that's what the Crane Master had meant. If Ranshin powered up, they would detect her spirit.

What an interesting idea.

No. Not really. The Crane Master had always warned her about them and Ranshin was inclined to agree with her former senseis assessments. She also agreed with the Crane Masters sentiment that nothing worth doing was easy.

Ki. Ranshin knew about ki. The Crane Master had taught her. She could detect her own energy and had learned how to use it. Sort of.

Ranshin knew that if she pushed all her energy outwards then she would 'power up'. Her aura would become visible. If she focused her energy into her fingertips then she could launch thin streams of explosive energy from her hands. If she shoved all her energy downward then she could hover. If she shoved her energy down and to the left at the same time, then she would go flying off to the right. That was it. All that really separated flying from energy blasts was where the energy was focused and how much energy was used at once. Simple as that.

So why was telekinesis difficult to master? Ranshin didn't understand it. Sensei Jitsugen had insisted that Ranshin should be able to learn the skill.

Ranshin sat in a special training room of the dojo. It was not a large room. No mats on the floor or padding on the walls - this was not one of the fighting rooms of the dojo. This room contained a wooden stool, a slightly charred piano and roughly five feet of space between the objects. The challenge for Ranshin was to play the piano without touching it. To extend her energy outward without powering up. To move an object, whether the keys on the piano or the entire piano, with energy alone. No hands. No feet. Just ki.

So far Ranshin had succeeded in levitating the stool that she sat upon. She had also set fire to the piano. Once. Accidentally. Without touching it.

After putting out the fire, Sensei Jitsugen had given Ranshin a lecture about the importance of discipline. He had tried to explain the connections between psychic ability and energy control. He had, in Ranshins mind, completely failed to make any sort of point. For although Sensei Jistugen was both mildly psychic and capable of telekinesis - he did not fully understand ki.

Traditional psychics did not work with ki. Instead their natural abilities were largely focused on abnormal communication skills. Reading minds, seeing the future, speaking to dead souls... Those kinds of things. The average psychic had one or two such talents at most. Reading minds OR predicting the future OR speaking to dead souls, etc.

Psychic attacks... Martial arts masters would chuckle then dismiss the concept as being the product of rumors, myths and legends. Fantasy. Because while having a psychic talent was credible, having a psychic attack... Technically, there was no such thing. Not that had ever been proven. And the reason for this was ki. At a martial arts demonstration, if a warrior broke a rock without touching it then that was not considered a psychic attack. It was a ki attack. Because mere thoughts could not break stones. Energy, on the other hand, could.

Mention ki attacks and even the most stoic martial arts masters would lose every ounce of color in their complexion.

Shugendo - literally 'the Way of Supernatural Powers' - was the formal name of the feared yet coveted legendary art that employed ki for self defense. For centuries shugendo had been regarded as the ultimate expression of discipline by the philosophical warriors who had strived, often in vain, to master it. What shugendo came down to was being able to fight with the soul instead of the physical body. To use personal energy for self-defense. There were nine main techniques. That was it. Shugendo consisted of six major skills - with countless variations on each one - and three attacks. All based on the ability to use ki. Telekinesis was one of the skills. It could, in a pinch, be used as an attack but it wasn't considered an attack. Certainly not a psychic attack.

However... Mind, body, spirit... All were connected. If a person could use one then they could learn to use the others. It was just a matter of doing the training.

To train or not to train?

Ranshin had never been given the choice. She'd always had to train. No regrets there. But it was difficult sometimes, to figure out the attacks. To learn the skills. Because neither of her senseis could teach from experience. Not always. The Crane Master had known some energy attacks and had been capable of flying. Yet the simple concept of 'powering up' had been beyond him. And Sensei Jitsugen was a mildly psychic martial arts teacher. He claimed to know what ki was but he had no idea how to use it for anything other than telekinesis.

Which, for some reason, happened to be a skill that Ranshin could not figure out.

Lately though, her concentration had not been at its best. She kept getting distracted. It didn't take much. A glimpse of movement, a scrap of sound. Ranshin didn't know what exactly had been bothering her, she just knew that no one else seemed to hear the noises that kept her awake. No one else saw the flickers of motion.

This had been going on for the past month.

And as Ranshin sat crosslegged on the stool, scowling at the piano, it happened again. A movement by the doorway. A soft ruffling sound.

She bolted after it.

Ranshin didn't pause to wonder if this might be dangerous. All she wanted to do was get a good look at the thing that had been following her around. She wanted to catch it, if possible. She wanted to show Sensei Jitsugen that she hadn't gone crazy. That there was an actual real live creature and that he just hadn't noticed it before.

She skidded to a stop in the entry hall, noticing for the first time that the dojo was dark. Ranshin blinked in puzzlement and glanced towards the windows. The sky outside was dark. No stars. No clouds. Just darkness. And the clocks said... The digital clock was blinking as if reset by a power surge. Ranshin frowned. Her internal clock, her instinctive one, said that it was afternoon. It felt too early to be night. A troubling concept indeed. If it wasn't night then why was the sky outside so dark?

Again, a distant ruffle. A glimpse of motion. Ranshin forgot about the darkness and crept towards the hall closet, not wanting to startle the creature.

Just a little closer...

Ranshin pounced into the closet. She spent a few dizzy moments struggling against something that she couldn't quite make out, much less get ahold of. Eventually she stood, sighed and released an innocent coat from her death grip.

Maybe it had been her imagination?

Then she looked down. And noticed the feathers. Hard not to notice them, what with their being blood red. Ranshin reached down to pick a crimson feather off the floor. But her hand went through it. Suddenly Ranshin felt very cold. She tugged a coat off its hanger and wrapped it around her. It was one of Sensei Jitsugens coats and therefore about fifty sizes too big for her but she felt a little better for wearing it anyway.

Her curiousity still demanded answers so she followed the trail of feathers. Out of the closet, down the entry hall, into the living room, out of a window...

Ranshin couldn't help gawking.

There was a large red bird in the garden behind the dojo. Perched on the edge of a fountain. Long beak. Webbed feet. Feathers sticking out all over the place. Unblinking round black eyes that seemed to glare at her. Ranshin circled it, keeping a safe distance and wondering how in the world anyone could have failed to notice such a creature.

Abruptly the bird squawked then pointed to the sky with its long sharp beak. Ranshin glanced up. There, against the inexplicably dark sky, a plume of green coils was taking shape. A hulking monsterous creature with dark eyes and long black horns. It practically radiated psychic energy.

Ranshin fainted. Overwhelmed.

When she regained consciousness a little while later, the sky had returned to a healthy blue. The monsterous creature was gone. The red bird was gone. But on the ledge of the fountain where the bird had so recently perched was a very familiar stone. A stone with the word 'Tsuru-sennin' scratched across its surface.

**ooxoo**

**E**veryone on Earth had seen the dragon. But less than twenty people on Earth - plus around sixty stranded Nameks - knew that it had in fact been a dragon. Porunga. Who did not, in the general publics opinion, look anything like a dragon.

Panic was an understatement.

Had the creature been an alien? Had it come to conquer Earth? Had it left to get more space monsters? Would it be coming back? Soon? Why had the sky gone dark when the monster was present? Was that how the monster planned on conquering Earth, by blocking the sunlight?

"I urge people to remain calm." Said a semi-elderly man on tv. He wore a lab coat over rumpled casual clothes, thick rimmed glasses over dark eyes. He had short hair that was gradually fading from pale purple to white and a mustache suffering from the same natural discolorment. A small black cat clung to his shoulder. And right at that moment, he alone had the power to set the record straight.

Or not.

"I apologize for any alarm that my experiment may have caused." Dr. Briefs told the world.

"EXPERIMENT?!" Several reporters exclaimed, "That creature was an experiment?!"

"Uhm. Yes." Dr. Briefs hated lying. But would the world be a better place if he told everyone about the dragonballs? Probably not. So instead... "A holograph, you understand. Quite realistic though, wasn't it?" Dr. Briefs knew that the Nameks were still stranded on Earth. That Porunga would probably be summoned again. And he didn't want people to panic when it happened next time so he added. "Of course, we will probably have to run more tests."

The reporters were speechless. Not for long.

"With all due respect sir," one reporter ventured, "what compelled you to build a giant holographic monster?"

"Err..." Dr. Briefs was aware of the fact that he was, by most standards, considered eccentric. He wasn't just plain eccentric though, he was an eccentric _genius_. There was a difference. He had his reputation to think of. A planet full of scientists to impress. "Well." Dr. Briefs conceded, "That giant holographic monster... It was..." He seized the first idea that came to mind. "A sort of planetary defense system."

**ooxoo**

**P**hones began ringing.

Capsule Corp employees. Reporters. Government officials. All of whom wanted to know what the heck was going on. Had Dr. Briefs truly invented a giant holographic monster? Could it really defend the world? When would the next test be? Why hadn't Dr. Briefs given the public some warning? Why hadn't Capsule Corp mentioned that they were working on a planetary defense system after all?

The media attention died almost as quickly as it had surfaced. The media was easily distracted. Good news always got better ratings than a bunch of questions. Good celebrity news especially. And the breaking news was more than good, it was incredible.

So the news anchors on tv - and on the internet and at the newspaper - all ran small segments about Dr. Briefs and his bizarre holographic monster. Not much was said beyond: "That Dr. Briefs, what will he dream up next?" Then the reporters would shake their heads and make vague promises to do follow-up stories. Promises that would be promptly forgotten in the wake of the breaking news.

The breaking news was nothing short of miraculous. All the reporters said so.

Four months ago, in front of a live television audience, a beloved celebrity had died while trying to defend Earth. It had been an international broadcast. There had been other victims at the same battle - but none of them had been mourned quite as much. A few disasterous Tenkaichi Budoukais had made the general public wary of martial artists.

Sports celebrities, however, would always have a special place in peoples hearts.

In truth, Yamucha was embarrassed by all the attention. More than a bit surprised too. He politely declined offers for interviews since he didn't want to have to explain the details of his reincarnation. He introduced the media to a famous martial artist named Kuririn before sneaking off.

Kuririn scowled up at the cameras for a moment before asking the reporters to please leave. Then Bulma Briefs stepped in, eager for the attention. She quickly got into an argument with the cameramen about which angle she looked better from. By the time this issue was resolved, everyone else had left.

The general public would split on the subject. Some people claimed that the televised battle against the aliens must have been a publicity stunt. That nobody had really died. That there was a conspiracy at work and that the warriors of Earths Special Forces were in on it. However the vast majority of people on Earth would point to the damage that the aliens had done to East Capital City. That, they would say, was not just some publicity stunt.

Nevertheless, people got on with their lives. The media would continue to focus on the amazing reincarnation of the famous baseball player for a while. It was generally agreed that Kami had to be a baseball fan.

But the phones were still ringing. Government officials. Capsule Corp employees.

Red Ribbon Army members.

Dr. Gero stood across from a television that appeared to have been turned off with a rifle. "I don't want any excuses!" He shouted into the mouthpiece of his phone headset. "Just get rid of them!"

**ooxoo**


	6. Flare: May 5th, 763 AD

_**Eclipse**_

**by DoraMouse**

**ooxoo**

**Flare: May 5th, 763 A.D.**

**T**he Red Ribbon Army had been a criminal organization for over two hundred years. Which meant that the members of the Red Ribbon Army - several deceased soldiers excluded - were intelligent enough to be subtle. It also meant that Red Ribbon had, over time, had plenty of opportunities to set up legitimate businesses to help fund their operations.

Order a pizza. Buy a car. Drop the kids off at an arcade. Take a stray dinosaur to the local humane society. The sign out front wouldn't say: 'this business is a division of the Red Ribbon Army' but nine times out of ten, it was. There were people on Earth who honestly didn't know that they were working for the Red Ribbon Army. The staff of the Tenkaichi Budoukai, for example.

Red Ribbon had always had a vested interest in the World Martial Arts Tournament.

Thanks to Red Ribbon, every Budoukai since the 15th had demanded that warriors registering for the tournament submit to a blood test to ensure fairness. It was a quick and relatively painless process, usually done before the preliminary fights began. Any warrior with illegal substances in their system would be disqualified on the spot. If at any time during the tournament a warriors behavior aroused suspicion among the tournament officials, more tests could be required.

But whatever became of all those blood samples?

What indeed.

**ooxoo**

**F**ive children stood huddled together. Four girls. One boy. All under the age of ten. Staring out at a world that they'd never actually seen before. The animals. The plants. The entire concept of daylight - it was alien to these children. They had grown up believing that nothing existed beyond the underground tunnels that they called home. And now they stood on a high balcony overlooking a city. Bewildered. Terrified. Where had all these other people come from?

Downstairs, the signs invited tourists to pay a fee and come enjoy the view. A gift shop sold everything from postcards to coffee mugs and beyond. None of the signs mentioned that this building was owned by the Red Ribbon Army. But it was. None of the signs added that the Red Ribbon Army hoped to make this building even more famous by killing certain warriors here. But they did.

The top balcony was reserved today, the signs said, by a private school.

Armed soldiers stood guard near the elevators while technicians put the finishing touches on the trap. One soldier paced the interior office. He looked like a failed attempt to crossbreed a kangaroo with a military plane. The children watched his every move in wary silence. Android 10 did not return their stares.

"When this signal goes off, all of you will power up." Explained a technician. "That should bring 'em to us."

Proto7A, the eldest of the group, frowned. She didn't like this. Not at all. If the trap worked - if it could kill the enemies of the Red Ribbon Army... Well. Maybe it didn't matter if she survived as well. Maybe all that mattered was that the enemies of the Red Ribbon Army would die. And if she died too then at least she would die serving the group that had created her. Seemed only right. No reason to argue, really. But... Proto7A glanced sideways at the panoramic view offered by the balcony. It tugged at her, inside. She was curious. There was a whole world out there to explore and learn about. A world that she hadn't thought possible. A world where maybe - just maybe - there were real live people who'd never heard of the Red Ribbon Army.

Okay, so that might be stretching it. But still.

_No, no._ Proto7A shook her head. She couldn't believe it. The world out there - it was just an optical illusion. It didn't really exist. And even if it did exist, she didn't belong to it. Her world was one of cold concrete floors and underground labratorys. Experiments and tests. That's all she was. An experiment, a test. She would never amount to anything more. And that was okay.

Or at least, she tried to convince herself that it was okay. It had always been okay before.

What bothered her the most, she finally decided, was the others. Proto7A worried for her younger peers. If she had to die to serve Red Ribbon - fine. Fair enough. But did the others have to watch? And worse, what if Android 10 killed one of the other children first? Proto7A didn't think she could stand it.

And if all of them died, all five of the genetic children... Then who would test the android prototypes?

Sharp metallic clicks brought an end to Proto7As internal speculation. Android 10 pointed the barrel of a large weapon in the childrens direction. "Act distressed or you'll BE distressed." He growled.

The five children reluctantly powered up.

**ooxoo**

**S**hugendo.

The art of using ki for self-defense was reputed to be at least nineteen hundred years old. However it could easily be double or triple that age.

Some myths claimed that the martial art had been invented by immortals and taught to humans. Other myths said that primitive human ancestors had invented shugendo in order to defend themselves from wild animals. Still other legends swore that the animals had invented shugendo. There were even a few myths where plants were credited with inventing shugendo.

Despite the massive number of legends attached to the martial art, it hadn't always been a mysterious affair.

The first World Emperor had suffered from paranoia. As a result, weapons had been declared illegal during his reign. Only the Emperor and soldiers of the Imperial Army had been permitted to carry swords. Everyone else - regardless of social rank - was to be unarmed at all times. No weapons of any sort. The penalty for breaking this law had been death. So for a few centuries, the general population of Earth had become extremely good at self-defense without weapons. Practically every other structure had been a dojo. Kicks, punchs, blocks, throws, choke holds... All of the martial arts had been revived. And everyone who had studied the traditional methods, the karate and judo and kung fu - everyone had theories about shugendo.

Technique number one was flying.

Needless to say, times had changed. Weapons had changed. Laws had changed. It was legal to carry weapons now. A permit was required but just about any creature on Earth could buy a gun. Thus lessons for unarmed combat were no longer in demand. Martial arts were once again fading from the collective human memory. What had once been a way of life, a serious means of defense and self-improvement was now viewed as little more than a trendy sport. A hobby. Something for aerobic teachers to borrow ideas from. Something for movie producers to exaggerate. Yet shugendo lingered.

Technique number two was energy shield.

For reasons that modern medical science had yet to explain, there were a few humans on Earth who were known to be over the age of three hundred. Most humans couldn't live past seventy without their memory slipping and their joints creaking and all the other common ailments of age beginning to show. But these strange old men had kept their health. They were all martial arts masters.

Technique number three was telekinesis.

A new generation of legends had emerged. An elite group of warriors that had demonstrated their prowess at the last three Tenkaichi Budoukais. Humans that could fly, create energy shields and use energy attacks. Humans that were apparently immune to death. Humans who, when working together, were known as the Earths Special Forces. How irritating. Those warriors hadn't seemed to appreciate what they were doing. Didn't seem to realize that they were using a legendary art that so many others had strived in vain to achieve. But that the green demon would know shugendo as well! And the aliens! It was just outrageous!

Technique number four was body distortion.

Oh and it got worse. Animals! Little creatures that had been domesticated so much that they'd become humanoid. They weren't even warriors! They didn't even study martial arts! Yet they had mastered one of the shugendo skills. Shapeshifting, a subcategory of body distortion. The animals had an entire school dedicated to teaching the talent. They called it the Shapeshifter Academy.

Technique number five was teleport.

A middle aged man with short brown hair stood with his arms folded. Watching his students spar. Humans. Kids. Young kids. Most of them came to his dojo two or three times a week after school. They would practice for an hour and then go home. Home to their video games and fantasy novels where the heros could fly. Without ever pausing to realize that maybe, with effort, they were capable of such things themselves.

It wasn't long enough. Two or three hours a week, it just wasn't long enough. Because the kids came in, got changed into their fighting uniforms and did warm-ups before the lessons began. Plus they would need time after the lesson to do cool-down exercises and to get changed back into their street clothes. So in truth, it ended up being about twenty or thirty minutes of martial arts per class. If that. Kids were in the habit of goofing off.

"Sensei Jitsugen!" screamed a student, "Kim bit me!"

Kim shouted. "He hit me first!"

"NO I didn't!"

"YES you did!"

"Liar!"

By now the entire class had become an audience to the debate.

Technically, fighting wasn't a bad thing. This WAS a self-defense class. Fighting would give the kids a chance to practice their moves. But Sensei Jitsugen knew that if anyone actually got hurt then the parents of his students wouldn't hesitate to file a lawsuit against him.

"Break it up!" Sensei Jitsugen ordered as he went to stand between the boys. "What have I told you?"

It was odd. The kids didn't seriously believe that they might be capable of flying - society had conditioned them to believe that such feats were impossible - but give a child twenty minutes of martial arts and their egos would inflate. No matter how much Sensei Jitsugen emphasized the need for humility and discipline, his students didn't often think of martial arts as self-defense. Instead, much to their senseis dismay, the children tended to feel that their limited knowledge of martial arts entitled them to beat up anyone that they disliked.

"I am NOT a liar! You take that back!"

"Nya! Make me!"

Sensei Jitsugen hated this part. The boys were ignoring him. He would have to put an end to this. Which meant dragging one of the kids aside. Which meant that one boy would call the other a teachers pet and then a whole new argument would begin.

Abruptly the room was tinted pale green. The arguing stopped.

"What is with all the yelling?!" A young girl stomped into the classroom. Her aura crackling around her. For every step she took forward, the other children took two steps back. "I'm TRYING to MEDITATE!"

The regular kids seemed to be holding their breaths. They knew better than to say anything around Ranshin. She had been a member of their class only once and on that single occasion an unfortunate boy had blurted out: "Three eyes? What a weirdo!"

Eventually the doctors had said that the boy would live. And Ranshin had private classes now.

"Ranshin..." Sensei Jitsugen sighed.

She was a bit strange. She'd had a strange life, after all. That and she refused to drop her claims about being haunted by a giant red bird of some sort.

Sensei Jitsugen wasn't quite sure what to make of the red bird story. He didn't doubt that Ranshin saw the creature - her claims had been too consistant for her to be making this up - but he just wished he knew what to do about it. Maybe the bird was a guardian spirit? But what if it wasn't? How did you protect someone from something that you couldn't see?

Anyway. He cherished the little triclops because here, finally, was a kid who took martial arts seriously. A kid who trained for more than two or three hours per week. A student who might challenge the boundries someday.

Shugendo.

Sensei Jitsugen had been a student once. Every martial arts sensei started out as a student. He hadn't actually meant to study shugendo but being mildly psychic had left him slightly more sensitive to ki than the average person. So learning to work with energy hadn't been as challenging for him as it was for non-psychic people.

He couldn't really detect ki. Not with any degree of accuracy. He couldn't power up. He couldn't fly or shapeshift or teleport. Sensei Jitsugen wasn't even entirely sure what the sixth technique of shugendo was and he'd never found any reliable information on the three shugendo attacks. But he wanted to teach Ranshin everything that he did know and would help her to figure out the rest as best as he could. Because if a student of his became legendary then maybe he would become famous. Maybe he'd be able to retire. Or better yet, maybe Ranshin would teach him how to fly so that he could become legendary on his own.

Sensei Jitsugen held the opinion that the world was in desperate need of new legends.

He respected the warriors that defended Earth. They were excellent fighters, there was no denying that. They just seemed so anti-social though. You hardly ever heard about the members of Earths Special Forces unless the world was endangered or a Tenkaichi Budoukai was being held. And the company they kept... It was worrisome. The human race needed better role models.

Sensei Jitsugen glanced at his watch. Close enough, he decided. "Class dismissed."

A healthy amount of noise returned to the dojo as his young students rushed to the locker rooms. Ranshin sniffed with disdain, powered down and turned to leave. The back half of the dojo contained a modest apartment. For reasons of cost and convenience, Sensei Jitsugen lived there. Ranshin had her own room.

"Ranshin..."

She faced him, scowling.

"Being stronger doesn't make you better." This was something Sensei Jitsugen felt was essential. He was trying to raise a legendary role model after all, not a bully. "Intimidation is not honorable. There are other ways to deal with people."

Ranshin snorted. "They don't bother me. I don't bother them."

She wasn't usually this belligerant. Sensei Jitsugen frowned with concern and lowered the volume of his voice. "Headaches again?"

Her expression said that she didn't want to admit it. Ranshin had never been comfortable talking about the talents she didn't fully understand, it was hard to find words. No one around her could detect energy so Ranshin wasn't aware that this was what her mind was doing. Detecting the kis around her. Detecting the handful of kis that registered above the norm. From her perspective, it had just been a miserable day of headaches.

"Get some rest." Sensei Jitsugen advised. "The headaches should pass."

**ooxoo**

**I**f everything went right, it would look like an accident. _Recently reincarnated heros step in to save a child from danger_ and WHAM. End of story. The media would likely get so caught up in the drama of the moment that no one would pause to wonder if the warriors had in fact been murdered.

Hopefully the heros would stay dead this time. Although technically, the 'heros' didn't even have to die for the plan to work. If the trap disabled them - that would be enough.

It wasn't as if anyone in the Red Ribbon Army had a personal grudge against Kuririn or Yamucha. No. This was a strictly business affair. If the Earths Special Forces were alive again... If Capsule Corp was building some stupid holographic monster... Then it was practically guaranteed that the World Government was going to stop funding Red Ribbon projects.

Red Ribbon needed that money.

Perhaps even more importantly, Red Ribbon needed that reputation. The general public had just started to trust them. The World Government had worked hard to portray their business partners as brilliant outcasts instead of fearsome criminals. And the Red Ribbon Army had done everything in its power - short of actually stopping their criminal activities - to live up to that image. Because the moment that the world trusted the Red Ribbon Army... Would be glorious. The world would be theirs.

This was the result of over two hundred years of planning and preparing. Generation after generation of rebels. Building the bases, doing the research, recruiting new members, acquiring the resources. All in pursuit of the same dream. All just waiting for the perfect time to begin.

Dr. Gero would have preferred to have the world come to him on its own terms. But he was an elderly man and he had been waiting all his life. His patience was starting to wear thin. "What do you mean _they aren't coming_?"

A fuzzy picture on the videophone told him. "Just what I said, sir. They aren't coming. Not as far as we can tell anyway."

"But it's a perfectly valid trap!"

The fuzzy image cleared for a moment to reveal a Red Ribbon agent. "Yes, sir. That's probably what they're thinking, sir. If they can detect us at all, sir. The techs have this theory - say we may be out of range..."

"Well then GET IN RANGE!"

Several explosions rocked the building that the guard was in. For the next few moments all that Dr. Gero saw was static. The screen did not clear but the audio did. A panicked voice could be heard amid a wave of noise.

"... genetics ... fighting ..."

The connection was dropped.

A moment of silence followed by a dial tone.

**ooxoo**


	7. Blaze: June 6th, 763 AD

_**Eclipse**_

**by DoraMouse**

**ooxoo**

**Blaze: June 6th, 763 A.D.**

**D**octor. It was a vague title often associated with health care. Doctors, it was widely believed, were people who worked in hospitals. But this was not wholly true. Anyone who completed an eight year program of study at a college or university earned a Doctorate degree. So there were Doctors of Art. Doctors of History. Doctors of Language. Doctors who would, essentially, never work in a hospital. Dr. Gero had studied geology. He had been, in his own words, a rock doctor. A cheerful young man full of ideas and ideals. A mountain climber and explorer of caves. He'd been somewhat popular in college but basically unheard of in the world of professional science since very few people on Earth had shared his interest in carbon dating and testing soil samples.

And then, shortly after his graduation, he had become famous. Not for long. Not for any scientific discovery. There had been a terrible traffic accident. And young Dr. Gero had survived it. Kind of.

The doctors - the hospital sort - had not been able to save his legs. So there he had been. Mid-thirties and stuck in a wheelchair. No more rock climbing. No more exploring caves. No more walking or running or standing still. His cheerful personality had vanished almost as quickly as his job prospects. In a wheelchair he could do labwork or teaching but...

Gero had always been a very stubborn man. A perfectionist, even. Not being able to stand up was, in his mind, imperfect. He could not tolerate such a flaw. So he'd done some studying and had persuaded some of his old college chums to help him experiment. And this was what had made Dr. Gero truly famous: the artificial limb. Hospitals had told him that he would never walk again. Yet here he was, nearly seventy years old. Standing straight and proud. Walking without a cane or a limp. Granted, the legs that he walked upon weren't natural but he had invented them and that made it okay.

There were many benefits to having artificial legs. Lack of pain, for example. Dr. Gero could stub his toe or drop a bowling ball on his foot and never feel anything, never even have a bruise. His legs couldn't bleed or break or grow weaker with age. They were comfortable, flexible and durable. If he wanted to be taller or shorter for a while then he could adjust a few things and viola.

In retrospect, Dr. Gero viewed the terrible traffic accident in which he had lost his legs as something of a blessing in disguise.

He thought of androids in much the same light. The potential! If Dr. Gero had his way then the future would be an android utopia. He could pass it off as cosmetic surgery - people were so vain and insecure. They would pay him for the operation. Why not? Why should artificial limbs only be available to people who had lost their natural set? Artificial limbs were so much better! Perfection! The parts would never age or grow weary. People would look young and beautiful all their lives. Everyone. And with a little bit of programming thrown in at no extra charge... He could make people believe whatever he wanted. He could create the sort of culture that he had always seen in science fiction books and movies. A world of gentle, educated people. A world without crime, disease or environmental crisis. A world without harmful traffic accidents. A world that he, Dr. Gero, could be proud of. A perfect world.

No one was going to take this vision away from him. Not the less-than-perfect androids 9 through 12. Not the escaped genetic children or the missing Red Ribbon agents. Not the warriors of the Earths Special Forces. Not the media. Not the World Government. Not Capsule Corporation.

No. One.

Dr. Gero had worked too hard, too long. He had good intentions. He honestly thought that he was acting in the Earths best interests. He viewed the future as an android utopia... And he would find a way to make that future happen, whether or not the rest of the world approved.

The people of Earth would thank him someday, when they finally understood what a favor he was doing them. Dr. Gero didn't expect that to happen in his lifetime though. The truly brilliant people on Earth - he considered himself one of these - were never understood in their own lifetimes.

Dr. Gero stood with his hands folded behind his back. Watching, watching... The television screen in front of him. It was small and the sound was muted but the image was clear and Dr. Gero soon saw what he'd been waiting to see. The stock market prices. Included in the list was a new stock, represented by the initals RRI. Dr. Gero smiled. Red Ribbon, INC. The plan was moving forward.

**ooxoo**

**"W**hat about you?"

The speaker was a young woman with pale blue hair and matching eyes. She wore loose clothes - jeans and a lightweight sweater - that complimented her flawless figure. Her skin had a pale tint to it. In truth, she was a bit too flawless. She looked like something that had been sculpted.

She had been.

This was Android 12. She sat on the passenger side of a parked aircar, pausing to make faces between sips of coffee.

"Eh." A handsome young man sat in the drivers seat and regarded his coffee cup with mild indifference. He had long dark hair and equally black eyes. This was Android 11. "No. I don't get it either."

"Well, they can't be drinking it for the taste." Android 12 remarked as she crumpled the paper cup in her hand and tossed it over her shoulder.

Mission number one. Act natural. Blend in with regular people.

It was harder than it sounded but the two androids were coping. They had new clothes, a nice shiny aircar and had tried to drink a cup of coffee. They paid for things instead of stealing. They did not wear the Red Ribbon logo. They had even picked out normal sounding names - but they didn't use their 'human' names around each other.

"Any progress?" Android 12 inquired.

Mission number two. Surveillance.

"Yes." Android 11 smiled and unzipped enough of his jacket to show off the shirt beneath. It was a pale yellow shirt with cursive red text on it. The top half of a uniform.

He had been hired. By a professional baseball team. And everyone there had noticed that he happened to look an awful lot like someone already on that team. Which was, of course, the point. Android 11 was entrusted with keeping tabs on the warriors of Earths Special Forces. If he could befriend even one of the warriors then perhaps he would be able to learn about the others. Names, ages, addresses, weaknesses, how they had come back from the dead. That sort of thing.

Android 12 had a similar mission. She was doing surveillance of Capsule Corp, learning everything she could about both the company and its employees. The fact that she resembled Bulma Briefs meant that she could wander in and out as she pleased.

"Hm." Android 12 nodded her approval because the words wouldn't come. It was odd. She was programmed for loyalty. She enjoyed her job. She was dedicated to her mission and grateful to Red Ribbon for creating her. But some living piece of her mind - a small battered organic part beyond the computer chips - hated being the shadow of someone else. She wanted her own life.

The car phone rang once. Both androids stared at it expectantly. When the phone eventually rang again, 12 picked up.

"Name, rank and serial number?"

"Is that how normal people answer the phone?" wondered Android 10.

Android 12 blinked, "I'll have to research that."

"Negative. It's irrelevant." Since he was not humanoid enough to easily blend in, Android 10 had been given a separate mission. He was hunting the escaped genetics. "Got one. Need you to meet me at coordinates - "

12 nodded, repeating the coordinates aloud while 11 revved the aircar engine. Somewhere, deep down in their programming, was the industrial protocol for driving. Which was a good thing. Because androids couldn't fly. Yet.

**ooxoo**

**T**wo months ago, the Crane Master had died.

Ranshin did not mourn the loss. She couldn't. She didn't feel as if her former sensei had actually left. There was the ghostly red bird after all. She'd looked it up in a encyclopedia. It was a crane, a ghostly red crane. And she'd been vaguely aware of the creature for nearly a month before she'd gotten a good look at it.

And that had been a month ago. Since then... The floodgates had opened, so to speak.

One little girl standing on the sidewalk, her dark indigo hair tied back in a single braid and her three eyes open wide. She was age four, almost five, and dressed in casual clothes. But she was strong enough to defend herself and smart enough to do chores. Like going to the local market to get a freshly baked loaf of bread.

The sidewalk was crowded but people made space for her. Ranshin was given sideways glances and a wide berth where ever she went. No one approached to ask where her parents were. No one tried to escort her home. No one came near her. She was talking to someone. Listening to someone. Someone that nobody around her could see or hear. Maybe she had a phone headset on? Maybe she had a mental illness? But... That didn't explain...

Ranshin focused her attention on a random person walking past her. She looked the bewildered stranger in the eyes. "I'm supposed to tell you happy birthday." Ranshin said.

"You are?" The stranger stopped in his tracks, sounding cautious and surprised. He didn't know this child. How could she have known that ... ?

"Yea." Ranshin let a second slide past in reflective silence then abruptly asked. "Your mom died a while ago, huh?"

Stunned silence.

"Kind of a tall lady, curly white hair and big hoop earrings?" Ranshin prompted. "Died of a heart problem?"

"Er. Yes, actually."

"Well, she wants me to tell you happy birthday." Ranshin shrugged. "And she wishes that you would clean out your sock drawer once in a while. And for heavens sake, call your brother."

Stunned silence again.

The traffic signal changed, flashing a green light in the shape of a walking person for pedestrians. Ranshin crossed the street without saying goodbye to the stranger. Instead she spoke to the empty air beside her. "Look - I can't help it if people don't believe me." She shook her head, "I know. I'm sorry. But I can't make people call their brothers."

Needless to say, Ranshins view of the world was undergoing a rather severe transformation. In her eyes... The 'real' world and the spirit world were merging. Becoming one and the same. Ghosts were as visible as living creatures.

This was, technically, how Ranshin should have been seeing the world since birth. This was what happened when a child who hadn't outgrown their natural psychic talents had a third eye. So Ranshin was becoming accustomed to seeing creatures who, despite looking solid, could float. And walk through walls. And all those other ghostly tricks. She was getting used to having strangers come up and start talking to her - because ghosts seemed to realize that she could hear them. She was getting used to turning around and telling strangers who were alive that their dead friends, relatives and pets had messages for them.

She could not turn it off. She had never learned to tune it out. Ranshin hardly took ten steps anymore without pausing to wish a stranger happy birthday or something similar.

Because of all this... When Ranshin walked past an alley on her way back to the dojo with a loaf of fresh bread, she didn't completely believe what she'd seen in the alley. It had to have been a trick of the imagination. She couldn't have really seen...

A flash of orange lit up the alleyway now behind her.

Ranshin did her best to ignore the ghosts vying for her attention and ran back. She crouched in the entrance of the alley. Still clutching the bread bag in one hand, she began creeping forward with deliberate slowness so that her approach made no sound.

Android 10 stood with a large weapon pointed downward. Ranshin wasn't close enough to see what he was aiming at. The barrel of the weapon jerked forward and then back as it fired. Whatever type of gun this was, it had a silencer on it. Android 10 snorted and pressed a button on his upper arm - the one that wasn't a massive gun - and waited for a dial tone.

"Get out of here." whispered a faint voice in Ranshins inner ear.

She turned and made out the hazy beaten form of a new ghost. It was a little girl in a school uniform. A little girl with dark curly hair. Even as a ghost, her energy was pale orange. And the school uniform that she wore was black and red with the logo of the Red Ribbon Army worked into the design. Ranshin could barely contain her surprise. This was the first time she'd ever recognized a ghost. "Proto4A?!"

"You have to leave!" The spirit pleaded. "Now!"

Ranshin scowled, fists clenched and expression stubborn. Two months in the real world... She had stopped missing the Red Ribbon Army. She didn't know what to think of that organization anymore. But this upset her. Ranshin couldn't guess what Proto4A was doing out here but it wasn't okay for androids to kill genetic children anymore.

"No!" 4A exclaimed. "If you fight him here - "

Other ghosts joined in. Ranshin hesitated. The spirits did have a point. A populated city was not a good place to fight an android. But 10 was heavy and slow, with creaking metallic joints. He could barely walk, much less run. As long as she stayed behind the gun and out of the range of his tail...

"Don't you remember how he killed 5A in the lab?" 4A persisted. "He's not as slow as he looks! And the other androids will be on their way soon."

"I can't just let him get away with - "

"He already has." 4A whispered sadly, holding out her ghostly hands as if to present the evidence. "N' he'll get you as well if you stay here."

Ranshin took in the whole scene. The buildings, the pipes, the overhanging roofs and rain gutters. The shaded alley lined with trash cans and dumpsters. The electric power lines passing overhead...

"No." Ranshin smiled and aimed high, the energy rapidly collecting in her fingertips. "No, he won't."

A thin stream of energy shot upwards and severed the power lines. Android 10 barely glanced up in time to see a heavy cable falling from above, the frayed wires glowing and trailing bright sparks. There was a yellow label on the cable with a warning printed in bold capital letters - DANGER: HIGH VOLTAGE. It was the last thing Android 10 ever saw.

**ooxoo**


	8. Twilight: October 2nd, 763 AD

_**Eclipse**_

**by DoraMouse**

**ooxoo**

**Twilight: October 2nd, 763 A.D.**

**W**aves of treetops dropping away at a steep angle, snow in the valleys below. The western horizon was a narrow line of fading pink-orange while the rest of the sky was layered in colors that went from shades of violet near the ground to dark blue and pitch black higher up.

It was a spectacular view. Especially at twilight.

Chaozu had always enjoyed watching the stars come out. He couldn't name more than a few of the constellations but he knew that if he waited then the lights of distant towns and cities below would be visible as well. As if human civilizations were, on some subconscious level, trying to mirror the night sky. An ironic idea perhaps - so much trouble had come to Earth from space - but a beautiful sight nonetheless.

A month ago, Chaozu had doubted the wisdom of being reincarnated for a second time. But his friends had persisted so he'd reluctantly returned to life once more. Quiet moments like these made him glad of that decision.

In times of stress and conflict it was so easy to overlook the daily moments of beauty. To forget how peaceful the world could seem. Even in modern society... Despite all the progress that technology had made, people were more out of touch than ever. Humans had every kind of time saving device on Earth available to them yet somehow, they never had time. Not even for something as simple as watching the stars come out.

Of course, down there... In the big cities... Was a generation of people who'd probably never seen the stars. They couldn't. Too much light pollution. Chaozu shook his head at the thought. He worried about the city people sometimes, with their busy lives and their kids who thought that food came from supermarkets instead of from farms. It was just kind of disturbing. They were in their own little worlds down there, worlds that ended at the city limits. Not that there was any reason to leave. The five capitals of Earth were each so huge that a person could probably spend their entire life in the same neighborhood.

Thank Kami for mountains.

Chaozu couldn't help but smile. It had been his idea to live out here. He'd insisted. Granted, there had been many practical reasons to move to the mountains. More room to spar. Less crime. Less traffic. No light pollution. Fresh air. Great scenary. The specific location though - Chaozu had picked it for special reasons. An inside joke between friends.

Speaking of which... Chaozu turned and drifted back towards the cabin that was their summer home. He knew better than to search all over the mountain range. Even if he found Tenshinhan - who was, as usual, out training somewhere - the triclops was not the sort of person who could be told to take a break. But put some popcorn on the stove and leave the back door open...

Hopefully, a bear wouldn't smell it first. They'd made such a mess of the kitchen last time.

Chaozu had defended the Earth on two occasions and prior to that, had lived through a political revolution in his homeland. He'd always fought as honorably as possible under the difficult circumstances. However if anything ever invaded his kitchen - that's when things would get ugly. Some families had pieces of furniture or jewelery that had been passed down from one generation to the next. Chaozus family had passed down recipes. He had actually inherited rather a lot of items but the political revolution had destroyed most of his inheritance. The recipes were one of the only family heirlooms he'd managed to keep hold of.

Before his mind could drift back to the days when his parents had been alive, a faint ki registered in his senses. Distant, to the west and moving... He concentrated. Moving north. Chaozu hovered above the cabin and looked around. It wasn't a very strong energy but compared to the ki of other things in the air - owls, insects, bats - it was definitely noticable. And it wasn't a familiar energy signature so... More than one person probably, with that much ki. In an aircar maybe.

Chaozu bristled. It had better not be poachers! He could not stand those people.

Two pale dots of light became visible over the trees. Chaozu watched them pass overhead in silence and continued to stare at the northern horizon long after the auras were out of sight.

... _Kids?_ At least, that's what it had looked like. He hadn't gotten more than a glimpse of them. But what were kids doing out here this late? What were kids doing out here, period? And where had these strange children learned to fly? Chaozu was tempted to go after them. Although... They hadn't seemed lost or endangered or otherwise in need of help. And their energy hadn't been evil. So there really wasn't any reason to investigate.

The hinges of the cabin door creaked and the unmistakable shuffle of a bear sounded below. Chaozu darted down to the house. "Oh no you don't!"

**ooxoo**

**F**our months. Four long hectic months.

Sensei Jitsugen was speechless. There was so much that he wanted to say. He hardly knew where to begin.

What did you say to a child who had run away? It wasn't as if this was her home after all. He wasn't her father. He was just someone who'd taken her in. Ranshin had seemed happy at the dojo. Well. Content, anyway. Sensei Jitsugen didn't understand it. What had made her leave? What had made her stay away for four whole months? How the heck had this child survived by herself?

How had she gotten back? She looked an absolute wreck.

No. None of that really mattered at the moment. Ranshin was back. That's what mattered. If he asked a bunch of questions, she'd probably just leave again.

"I'm glad you've returned." Sensei Jitsugen said in as neutral of a tone as he could manage.

She wasn't his kid. But she was his prize student and he had grown attached to the odd little triclops. Sensei Jitsugen felt the impulse to run over to Ranshin and hug her while saying things like: "Where have you been? You had me worried sick! Don't you EVER do that again!" repeatedly. He didn't. He wanted to. But it was more likely to frighten her than anything else.

"I didn't find them." Was all that Ranshin said as she walked to the guest room where she had been staying before. She sounded much older than she was and very tired. "I have to rest." She yawned. "And then, I have to train."

She closed and locked the door behind her.

After a hesitation, Sensei Jitsugen reached out mentally. Who or what were 'them'? What had Ranshin been looking for? Why did she need to train? If she wasn't going to tell him then he would have to search her mind.

Five minutes later, Sensei Jitsugen gave up. There wasn't a block. That wasn't it. More like an overload. Ranshins mind was surrounded by so much energy, so many thoughts. Sensei Jitsugen couldn't be sure which thoughts were hers. It was like trying to find a needle in a haystack - during a tornado. Sensei Jitsugen considered his options. He supposed that someone ought to call the police and let them know that Ranshin was no longer a missing person. But... Maybe not yet. He didn't feel up to it just yet. What if she left again?

Four months...

Sensei Jitsugen had searched for Ranshin. He had lost sleep. He had lost weight. He had gained a few strands of grey in his walnut brown hair. He'd had heated arguments with police officers. He'd handed out flyers, run ads in the papers and on the radios. And after everything he'd been through... Ranshin had come back on her own and she'd hardly even said anything to him. Had all his efforts been wasted? Didn't the kid appreciate..?

No. No. He couldn't look at it that way. That was not a healthy way to look at the situation. He was confused and upset and hurt, yes. But getting angry wouldn't solve anything. The healthy way to look at it was: and after all that Ranshin had apparently been through, she had come back.

What had she been through? Sensei Jitsugen had no clue. Which worried him. It was ironic. Almost funny, in a bizarre detached way. He'd been so worried about Ranshin being gone. Now she was back and he couldn't enjoy the moment. Couldn't stop worrying.

And she wasn't even his kid. He kept reminding himself of the fact, as if privately hoping that it might numb him somehow. Ranshin wasn't his kid. She was just this weird little triclops he'd found after the Crane Masters demise. A stranger that he'd taken in for a couple months. So really, why should she have called him or left a note? It would have been nice to know that she was okay but... Sensei Jitsugen had no idea where she'd come from. Ranshin had never mentioned her history, never mentioned a family or a home. She wasn't exactly talkative. But maybe...? What if she had a home out there? What if he had inadvertantly taken her away from someone else? What if THEY missed her? But then... Why had she come back here?

These and countless other questions tangled in Sensei Jitsugens mind. He was struggling to make sense of something that he couldn't understand. Because he just plain didn't have enough information. He didn't know where Ranshin had been for the past four months. And he couldn't guess her reason for suddenly leaving anymore than he could fathom her reason for abruptly returning.

What he did know for certain was that he had to find a camera. Right now, this instant. Because he didn't have a picture of Ranshin and he wanted one. In case. That way if she left again, he would at least have a photo.

Sentimental value aside, having a photo would make it easier to search for Ranshin if she went missing again. Last time, Sensei Jitsugen had told the police that he was looking for a small triclops and they'd ordered him to take a drug test. A perfectly understandable reaction. The vast majority of the general public seemed to consider the triclops a fictional creature. A third eye wasn't exactly a common trait.

**ooxoo**

**T**enshinhan was not training. He didn't feel like it. What was the point?

There wasn't one.

Gokus fighting style had flaws. Piccolo. Vegeta. Gohan. _All_ of them. But Tenshinhan doubted that he would ever be fast enough or strong enough to take advantage of those flaws. Not because he wanted to conquer the world or anything. He'd once hoped to prove a point, to show the world that certain warriors weren't invincible. Maybe even reclaim the title of World Champion.

No need for that now.

If Goku wasn't dead then he was lost in space. And Vegeta had returned to space six months earlier. And Piccolo and Gohan and every other decent warrior on Earth had been humbled by a lifetime of traumatic death and near-death experiences.

Tenshinhan had been reincarnated a month ago. He knew that it wasn't summer but after ten months of being dead, he wasn't ready to deal with civilization. He had no desire to be around other people. So he and Chaozu had returned to the isolated summer cabin instead of to their winter home which was on the fringe of a remote mountain village.

It was... Beyond words, really. No had warned him. No one could have. Reincarnation was...

Well. Reincarnation did a heck of a number on the immune system, for starts. Tenshinhan couldn't remember the last time - outside of serious battles - that he'd felt this queasy. Maybe he was coming down with a cold or something. After all, his physical body had been dead for nearly a year. It was just going to take a while to get used to being alive again. For lack of a better phrase, it was reincarnation sickness. Sort of like jet lag, he supposed, except on a slightly more severe scale.

So Tenshinhan wasn't training. Sure. He'd SAID that he was going to train but that was just what he always said. It was an easy way to get out of the house, no questions asked.

Chaozu had recovered a lot faster - maybe it was his smaller size, maybe it was the fact he'd been reincarnated once before. Whatever the reason, Tenshinhan didn't want to burden his friend with worry. So around the cabin, he pretended to be fully recovered as well. Chaozu probably saw through the act but took the hint and didn't mention it.

Outside of the cabin... Were several hundred acres of relatively isolated wilderness. Tenshinhan had never been very good at relaxing but when outside and alone, he didn't feel as compelled to pretend that everything was all right.

Tenshinhan hovered. Meditating. Trying to sort things out in his own mind and occasionally reminding himself to breathe. Because ghosts didn't have to breathe. And he'd been a ghost for ten months, so he'd started to forget. It was easier, outdoors. Breathing. Thinking. Making sense of things. Tenshinhan wasn't sure why. Perhaps the cold winter air had something to do with it.

Humans were not the most important animals.

Ah. The assassins maxium. Having something to believe in had always helped him get through his work. Back when he'd had work, anyway.

Consider. If a lion kills a deer - then does the lion get taken to court for murder? No. Of course not. If a human causes an entire animal species to go extinct? Anymore, hardly a headline would take notice. But if a human kills another human? Or if a snake kills a human? Media galore. Humans viewed themselves as superior. A human life was worth more and therefore the loss of a human life always grabbed attention. Nevermind that there were over seven billion humans on Earth. Nevermind that if an animal or plant species went extinct, it would mess up the natural balance of things. Without animals and plants... What would the humans eat? Where would they get their medicines and clothes and building materials? Where would they get their air?

Tenshinhan did not think of himself as an environmentalist. It wasn't so much the animals or the plants that concerned him, it was the balance. The natural balance of power. Earth had too many people. End of story. And while death wasn't a pleasant affair... Death was natural. Death was normal. Death happened for a reason.

Death was supposed to be permenant.

Maybe it had been a mistake to come back? What did he really stand to gain by staying alive for a few more years? So he was alive again. Great. He would age a bit and then die again. Wonderful - not. Why should he have to come back to life? It wasn't fair. Not to him nor to anyone else. There had to be better uses for the dragonballs. More important wishes to be made.

Tenshinhan reached his usual conclusion. Whenever a situation frustrated him this much... It had to be his fault. Something that he'd done. Or maybe something that he'd failed to do.

In this case, it was both.

Why on Earth had he been defending the Earth? If an alien species wanted to come along and wipe out a human city... Who was to say that this was not a perfectly natural event? Yes, it was cruel and harsh and unfair. But such was life. Humans didn't have any room to complain. Not after what humans had done to other species. Heck - not after what they'd done to each other.

And what made Earth so special anyway? Apparently there were all kinds of other inhabited planets out there. Why bother defending Earth?

Simple. Earth was home. Not just to humans either, no matter how much humans dominated the planet. And if aliens wanted to wipe out the entire planet... Then they were no better than humans, really. Because wiping an entire species out of existence was not a good idea. The natural balance would be thrown off. Species needed each other in order to survive.

So... What was the resolution here? Defend the Earth as a whole but not human cities? That seemed kind of hypocritical.

Tenshinhan didn't know. He didn't feel like saving the world anymore. He even didn't want to think about it anymore - much less train. He was sick and tired of the whole act. The people who'd wished him back to life... Sure. They were his friends. Yea. Right. That would explain why he never heard from them outside of battles and special training sessions. Hmf. Some friends. They hardly knew him.

Eh. No. That part washis fault. He didn't care to be known. Too risky. Safer to keep a distance.

Was it safe to stop training?

...

For now, perhaps. Piccolo wasn't that much of a worry anymore. Because Piccolo was spirit-bound to Kami and Kami would probably commit suicide if Piccolo ever gave serious thought to being evil. Gohan... No. Tenshinhan couldn't make himself believe that a six year old pacifist was going to pose a threat to the world anytime in the near future. Kuririn was, despite his martial arts career, a former monk and therefore opposed to unnecessary violence of every sort. Yamucha was a professional sports celebrity which kept his schedule extremely full. Even in the off season Yamucha shouldn't have the time to do anything too evil - and it wasn't the off season. Yajirobe seemed to be an apprentice to Korin and both of them kept busy helping Kami to guard the planet. Master Roshi was retired from fighting.

That left Chaozu.

Which was actually a little bit disturbing. Because if anyone could turn around and rip his fighting style to pieces... Chaozu could. Chaozu wouldn't, Tenshinhan was fairly sure of that, but he could. They had sparred often enough to be familiar with each others weaknesses.

Tenshinhan abandoned this line of thought, deciding that it was ridiculous. He trusted Chaozu more than anyone else on or beyond Earth. His best friend was not going to go evil on him. He was just tired and sick and dammit, he deserved a break. So he would take one. No more training. At least, not until he felt better. He wasn't the Earths guardian for crimineys sake. Kami would just have to -

Dark mist spilled down in curtains. Filling the planets atmosphere. Most creatures on Earth - humans and animals alike - were turned in to zombies. Except for those who were asleep, they stayed asleep. And creatures who hadn't been feeling well to begin with - like Tenshinhan, for example - they lost consciousness.

And, far away to the north, two genetic children flew across the darkening sky. Sadly, their timing proved quite fatal. They inhaled the mist, became inert zombies in midair and dropped from heights that few creatures could survive.

**ooxoo**


	9. Disillusion: October 3rd, 763 AD

_**Eclipse**_

**by DoraMouse**

**ooxoo**

**Disillusion: October 3rd, 763 A.D.**

**M**aron.

Kuririn couldn't stop thinking about her. And his thoughts had nothing to do with love. That part of the issue had been resolved. He'd told her to leave. She'd left.

It was a relief.

It was a puzzle.

Kuririn was not about to admit - not to anyone - the state that his long-term memory was in.

Maron had come to Kame Island. Maron had said that she was glad to see him again. Had he actually met her three years ago? Had they dated before? Kuririn had no idea. It was plausible. He'd always wanted a girlfriend. But he just couldn't remember.

This was a side effect of two reincarnations and a lifetime of sparring. His short-term memory was fine. Kuririn knew for sure what he'd done last week, yesterday, today. Beyond that, the details got vague. His memory became selective.

Kuririn knew that a month ago, friends and stranded Nameks had gathered at the Kame House. The group had summoned Porunga. The media had flipped out again. Tenshinhan and Chaozu had been wished back to life. The Nameks had wished for a New Planet Namek and had sent themselves there. A month. Dende had left Earth a month ago. Hard to believe that they would probably never see him again. But what had Kuririn done for the rest of that day? Nothing stood out in his mind. It was just a vague routine blur. Eat, sleep, study, spar a bit, clean up. The usual.

The way he remembered it, most of his life was a kind of routine blur. The rest was all still-shots. Traumatic memories frozen in time. A scattering of triumphant moments to help balance things out. And inbetween - just routine blurs.

Anyway. Maron had shown up. Maron had claimed that they were dating. And Kuririn had gone along with it to be polite. What was he supposed to do? He'd never really dated anyone before, not that he could recall. He wasn't sure how to dump someone. He hadn't wanted to dump her anyway, not at first. Maron had seemed nice. She had acted like she knew him. How else could she have found him at Kame Island? She must have known. Besides, Kuririn _had_ always wanted a girlfriend. And a family. And he wasn't getting any younger. Heck, he wasn't even sure how long he had left. Kuririn was closing on age 28 and he'd already died twice. He'd been wished back both times - once nine years ago, once six months ago. What if he couldn't be reincarnated again? The Nameks had taken their set of dragonballs with them when they'd left. What if death was permenant next time? What if this was his last chance?

Maron had seemed beautiful. Friendly. Funny. Nice. So what if Kuririn couldn't remember meeting her? So what if she DID happen to look a LOT like Bulma? She was... There. And she loved him. Or at least, she'd said that she did. Kuririn had been willing to give it a shot.

That had been his frame of mind yesterday. Before the invasion.

Then the strangest thing had happened. Everyone on Earth had been turned into zombies. Except for Kuririn and Gohan - who had been underwater, swimming, when the dark mist clouded the air. Mister Popo and Kami had been trapped in a jar for a while, which had prevented them from becoming zombies. Piccolo had been okay because he was spirit-bound to Kami. Yajirobe and Korin had been okay because they lived in a heavily enchanted area, the magic had protected them. And...

... Maron had been okay ...

This was why Kuririn couldn't stop thinking about her. Everyone else on Kame Island had been turned into zombies. It hadn't mattered if they were indoors or out. They'd breathed the air.

Upon returning to Kame Island after the swim, for the first time Kuririn had noticed Marons energy. Or rather, her explicit lack thereof.

It just did not make sense. Maron had looked human. She'd acted human. She'd had a pulse. Why did she not have a ki signature? Why had she not been affected by the dark mist? How could she have a pulse if she wasn't breathing? How could she not have been affected by the dark mist if she WAS breathing? She'd LOOKED like she was breathing.

And why the heck hadn't anyone else noticed? Okay. So Yamucha, Master Roshi and pretty much everyone else on Earth had been zombies. They were excused. N' Piccolo, Gohan, Kami and Mister Popo had been distracted by the need to save the world from Garlic Junior. They were excused. But Yajirobe and Korin... Could both detect ki. Although, Kuririn hadn't really paused to talk to them. He'd just sort of left Maron at the tower before darting up to join the battles at Kamis Lookout. In retrospect, Maron had been a lot less cheery after he'd picked her up from the tower. Maybe it was because the world had just been saved - yet again - from an evil alien. Or maybe Yajirobe and Korin had said something to her?

This lead Kuririn down a much darker line of thought.

What if he HADN'T met Maron before? Why would a woman that he'd never actually met come looking for him? How would she get the address? Why pick on him, specifically? Why on Earth would someone with her figure and her personality settle for someone like him anyway? How could he have ever believed her? He'd been so stupid, to leave himself open like that...

Kuririn hated to give up on the idea of starting a family. But he'd had to let Maron go. He didn't - couldn't - trust her anymore. Painful though it had been, he'd broken up with her. Asked her to leave. Maron hadn't put up much of a protest. She'd left with a friend. So much for her claims of loving him.

Another puzzle.

Marons friend. The guy had seemed human. But to get there so fast - could it be? Maybe Marons friend hadn't been affected by the dark mist either. And had it been trick of the eyes or...?

Kuririn wasn't sure what to make of it. The stranger that Maron had left with, that guy could have been Yamuchas twin. Right down to the baseball uniform. They'd departed before Kuririn could focus enough to check the strangers ki. Nevertheless... The memory would not leave him alone. He couldn't get it out of his mind. There was something wrong with this. Maron looked like Bulma. Marons friend looked like Yamucha.

It was either the freakiest coincidence ever or something was up. And, Kuririn felt, with his luck ...

"K-san!" Oolongs voice carried through the Kame House.

No one ever abbreviated his name unless it was REAL trouble.

Kuririn made a quick mental list of the things that he really, really hoped that he wouldn't hear in the next thirty seconds. _Oh please Kami-sama, don't let it be Garlic Junior again. Don't let it be Piccolo gone haywire or Gohan gone evil or Goku coming back with amnesia or Vegeta coming back with an army or Master Roshi on caffiene withdrawal or - _

"Wha-at?" He tried not to sound too annoyed and failed miserably.

"Can you sense Tenshinhans ki anywhere?" Oolong arrived at the doorway, breathless from rushing downstairs to answer the phone then back upstairs to speak to Kuririn.

"WHA-AT?!" Slightly more surprised and panicked this time.

Oolong nodded towards the phone that he held. "Chaozu can't find him."

**ooxoo**

**S**tep. Punch. Block. Turn. Punch.

Ranshin went through the motions of a kata. It was one of the less complex katas - mostly punchs and blocks - so she didn't have to think about what she was doing very much. She could think about other things.

The voices of two teachers echoed in her mind. Although the Crane Master and Sensei Jitsugen had apparently disagreed on something enough to warrant a duel to the death, many of their lessons were similar. Ranshin found herself whispering the precepts - a short list of vital concepts that were so basic to martial arts that every warrior learned them. Or at least, every warrior was supposed to learn them.

Her fist carried through the air with hardly any conscious effort on her part.

Punch. Block. Pause.

"Peace over anger." She whispered.

Easier said than done. That was the way all the precepts were. Idealistic. It was hard to detach from a fight. Hard to shut off the emotions because the emotions were usually what motivated you to fight in the first place. But it was important to shut the emotions off. Anger, like all other emotions, could impair judgement. Fighting with peace - inner peace - meant staying calm and collected. Thinking clearly. Having confidence. Not being afraid. Not trying to prove anything. Not boasting or bragging or getting all bent out of shape. It meant that in your own mind, you'd already won the battle.

Turn. Punch. Block. Pause.

"Grace over power."

It wasn't about being the strongest. That's what her senseis had always said. Having power was fine but what good was power going to do if you didn't know how to use it? You had to learn how to fight properly first. You had to learn to go with the flow, to take openings as they came up. You had to learn to use an opponents skill against them. Grace over power meant conserving energy. No jumping all over the place like some kind of circus act. No distracting unnecessary movements. And never ever putting every ounce of strength into a single attack. Because what if that attack missed? What if it was blocked or dodged? How would you defend yourself then?

Turn. Punch. Punch. Step. Block. Pause.

"Self over others."

Self-awareness that is. It was about discipline. Inner peace. Know thyself. Master thyself. Deep down, every warrior - every creature - was their own worst enemy. But if a person could learn to acknowledge their own faults and limits then they would become more careful about getting into battles. A person at peace was more attentive to the world around them. Less likely to be caught off guard. Less likely to lose their temper or be influenced by other peoples opinions.

It was just generally a good idea to have some self-control. Because if you didn't have that much then there was no point in fighting. You'd defeat yourself.

Step. Step. Block. Punch. Block. Pause.

"Honor over peer pressure."

This was a precept that the Crane Master hadn't mentioned. Honor, according to Sensei Jitsugen, meant being able to do the morally correct thing regardless of what the rest of the world thought. Martial arts were meant to be used for self-defense. Not for attacking people. Not for intimidating people. Not for entertainment purposes. Just for self-defense and, if the situation called for it, defending others too. Even if you didn't like them. Or know them. That's what honor was about.

Murder was never completely honorable. Not by Sensei Jitsugens definition. But the Crane Master had always said that honor was what you made it. That survival was more important, death happened anyway and that sometimes a little killing was necessary.

"So don't leave any evidence."

That, at least, was one precept Ranshin felt perfectly capable of fulfilling. Nobody would ever find the remains of Android 10.

Ranshin finished the kata and bowed. There was no one around to bow to. But there would be soon enough. Judges. Tournament judges.

A local tournament was coming up. Granted, martial arts wasn't meant to be used as entertainment but the tournaments were not entertainment. Maybe it was entertaining for the spectators but for the fighters, it was work. And bowing showed respect for the work being done. So bowing was required.

Besides, it was the duty of every martial artist to make the tournament look good. Especially in times like these.

For reasons that had never really been made clear to the general public, the World Government had banned all the tournaments after the alien invasion that had damaged East Capital City. Famous tournaments like the 24th Tenkaichi Budoukai - which was already several years overdue - were still cancelled indefinitely. Recently, however, it had been announced that some of the smaller local tournaments would be allowed to resume. So perhaps someday, the bigger tournaments would be brought back as well.

Would it happen in her lifetime? Would the Earths Special Forces be there? Would Androids 11 and 12 be there? Ranshin didn't know. But she felt the need to train harder. In case.

A little more than anything else though... All of the genetic children were fighters. It was what they'd been designed for. Ranshin knew that 4A was dead but she hadn't found any of the others. She'd searched for months. The journey had been educational. But the world was such a big place... She hadn't found the other children. She could spend her whole life searching and never even find clues, Ranshin was almost sure of it. But... Maybe... Just maybe, the other genetics would turn up at a tournament.

Sensei Jitsugen didn't have much say in the matter. Ranshin was going, whether or not he approved. However Ranshin did appreciate all that he'd done for her. Putting up with her. Giving her a place to stay. The training lessons. She appreciated it a lot. More than she knew how to express in words. Which was part of why she'd come back. For a clean uniform. Ranshin planned to enter the tournament wearing the mark of Sensei Jitsugens dojo. It would be good advertising, if nothing else. Maybe it would even make him proud.

**ooxoo**

**"D**idn't you just say that we should all stay together?"

Chaozu stared at the winter landscape. What had looked so serene and peaceful yesterday evening now seemed a vast panoramic death trap. Fresh snow coated the ground and the puffy grey clouds overhead threatened to deliver more. "Yes." He HAD told them to stay within sight of each other. People could get lost out here. Especially if they didn't know the area. And the weather wasn't exactly stable. "But I have to keep looking."

Puar flattened back her ears as she hovered beside him. "Chaozu ..."

Yamucha and Puar had been the first to arrive. Kuririn was on his way over but he was coming from half a world away. Kame Island was in a completely different timezone. As far as Chaozu was concerned, the dark mist had fallen from above yesterday at twilight. On Kuririns side of the world, it had only been mid-afternoon.

"Be reasonable." Yamucha said gently, "What if something happened to you? It'd be about a million times harder to find you out here."

Chaozu couldn't argue with this. He did blend in with the snow rather well.

"Besides if Tenshinhan was powered up, we'd sense him." A note of alarm crept into Yamuchas tone. "Why are you shaking your head?"

Chaozu bit his bottom lip. The mountains. These mountains, in particular, were a natural ki block. It was part of why Chaozu had wanted to live here. To be anonymous, in every sense of the word. "We can sense Kuririn from here." Chaozu explained quietly, "But he won't be able to detect us until he's close enough to see us. The mountains - "

"So Tenshinhan could be out here somewhere, fully powered up and - ?"

"We'd probably see the aura." said Chaozu, "Might not be able to detect it."

Yamucha considered this revelation for a few moments. It made sense. There had been times in the past when they'd all KNOWN that Tenshinhan was training - like, prior to the 23rd Tenkaichi Budoukai - but they'd never sensed him training. Which was odd. Because Tenshinhan had ki levels that were hard not to notice. In fact Earths Special Forces - it was a weird title for the group but it worked - well, the other members had lost track of both Tenshinhan and Chaozu for years at a time.

Come to think of it, how had they found Tenshinhan and Chaozu last time? Nobody had known the address. Nobody had sensed their kis. Oh. That's right. Bulma had modified the dragonball radar. She'd found Tenshinhan and Chaozu by tracking them electronically somehow. That had been a year and a half ago. Bulma might still have the radar. But... Asking Bulma for help was the sort of experience that Yamucha considered to be on par with getting a root canal. If anyone else wanted her help - let THEM ask. He wasn't going to.

There wasn't any point, anyway.

Yamucha sighed, watching the fog of his frozen breath drift upwards. He hated being a realist sometimes but the situation was grim. It was winter in this part of the world. It was the mountains. It got COLD up here. If Tenshinhan had been hit with the dark mist yesterday... And if he had stayed out here all night in zombie mode, without powering up to keep warm... And if he had been sick to begin with, due to still recovering from reincarnation...

Not good. Not good at all.

"Erm. If Tenshinhan was conscious," Puar ventured, "... wouldn't you ...?"

Oh jeez. She was right.

Chaozu didn't need to detect ki. He was psychic and adept enough that he could detect brainwaves. If he had called them for help then it meant that where ever Tenshinhan was, he was either unconscious or dead. Chaozu would have been able to find him otherwise.

In many ways Chaozu was the little kid that he looked like. Not technically, of course. He had to be at least twenty now, though he could easily be double or triple that. No one knew his age for sure and Chaozu wasn't telling. But he'd had a very public political life early on. Yamucha kind of understood what this was like since he was a celebrity. And when you were surrounded by people all day, every day, year after year... Sometimes the prospect of being alone became absolutely terrifying.

Chaozu didn't really need their help. Chaozu just needed the company. No matter what they found today, they couldn't leave him out here by himself.

Without giving it any thought, Yamucha pulled the smaller warrior into a hug. It was as much pure instinct as it was strategy. If Chaozu took off on his own, he would be impossible to relocate. Because he was an expert at concealing his ki.

Chaozu was not usually huggable but he was freezing, exhausted and stressed - so he allowed it.

"Shift?" Yamucha suggested. This was why Puar had come. She couldn't detect energy and couldn't detect brainwaves - but she was a shapeshifter. She could help search. They just had to figure out how.

Puar studied the landscape. She was trying to decide what form to take. "Snow plow?"

"Uh. What if you run him over before we see him?" Yamucha hated having to say these things at all, much less in front of Chaozu. Although... Chaozu was currently either asleep or entranced. And Yamucha was leaning towards 'asleep'. Stress had taken its toll on the small warrior. Kami-only-knew how long Chaozu had been awake, searching on his own, before finally asking the others for help.

"Flamethrower is out, huh?" Puar muttered as she perched on Yamuchas shoulder.

"Probably for the best."

It would be great to clear the snow away for the search. But they had to be careful. What if there had been an avalanche? What if Tenshinhan was trapped under a snow drift somewhere? They didn't want to accidentally clear him away with the snow. Plus there couldn't be THAT many humanoid creatures out here. What if the snow held important clues, like footprints?

Vaguely, in the back of his mind, Yamucha noticed that Gohans ki had joined Kuririns. Which meant that Piccolo was likely to end up in attendance as well. Because anytime this many of the warriors got together, Piccolo would be curious. Especially after everything that had happened yesterday. The Namek would be on his guard. He'd want to know if Earth was endangered again, already.

"Maybe a bloodhound?" Yamucha regretted the words as soon as he'd said them.

"You're asking me to become a DOG?!" Being a small semi-humanoid cat, Puar found this request offensive.

"Look. Puar, the day that I see police at a crime scene with trained cats sniffing for clues - "

"Surprised they HAVE senses of smell!" Puar grumbled, "With all the disgusting places a dog sticks its muzzle, you'd think -"

"Puar!"

"What?!"

"Just... Please." Yamucha did not want to have this debate right now. "We're here to find Ten-san. Time is against us, remember?"

Puar hissed a few incoherant curses under her breath then landed, glowed and blurred. The small blue-grey cat was no more. An adult wolf stood in her place. "You owe me." The wolf growled before putting her nose to the ground.

**ooxoo**

**F**ar away to the north, a sleek red aircar flew across the sky. It wasn't speeding along. Certainly wasn't going full speed.

The androids weren't eager to return to the underground labs of the Red Ribbon Army. Er. No. Not an army anymore. Now it was Red Ribbon, INC. All the legitimate businesses that Red Ribbon had owned and operated in secret were now one massive company.

As far as Red Ribbon was concerned, the plan was a success. The 'holographic monster' had appeared again, a month ago, and shortly afterwards Dr. Briefs had told the media that he was abandoning the project. Red Ribbon members saw this as a personal victory. A sign that Capsule Corporation was suffering from the presence of serious competition. Red Ribbon agents thought that perhaps Capsule Corp couldn't afford to work on the planetary defense system anymore. They had no way of knowing that in truth the 'holographic monster' had been a dragon named Porunga. That Dr. Briefs was lying to the media and general public. He hadn't ever really had a planetary defense system. It had just been Porunga. And now the stranded Nameks were gone from Earth and Porunga was gone with them. So it was safe for Dr. Briefs to pretend to abandon the project.

Which meant that, at least for now, the World Government would continue to fund Red Ribbon projects.

And recent disasters had gived Red Ribbon another subtle advantage. Dr. Briefs could not explain what had happened yesterday. Neither could the World Government. But Red Ribbon, INC - well. They did have witnesses.

"Got ahead of them." Android 11 was saying. Yesterday he'd been chasing a pair of genetic children. Without Android 10, their assignments had been changed. "Then that dark fog appeared. Cut visibility. So I turned around and drove back -"

"Amazing." Android 12 muttered, unable to appreciate the irony of the situation. She had put a lot of effort into her attempt to learn more about the members of Earths Special Forces. And for what? She hadn't discovered much new information. Android 11, on the other hand, just had to drive around in the mountains for a bit with his headlights on... And now they had an extremely sedated hostage laying across the back seat of the aircar. They had orders to leave him alive and deliver him to the lab.

"So what about the brats?"

"Haven't seen them since." Android 11 admitted, the bravado falling out his tone. "Must have flown right past me. It was that fog."

A pause.

The dark mist hadn't affected them. Because they weren't human enough. They were androids. As artificial lifeforms, they were technically already dead. The computer chips in their heads did not contain a 'turn into zombie' command because in some ways, that might have been redundant. So the androids didn't fully understand the events of yesterday - but they'd witnessed them. The strange weather had caused strange behaviors among humans. Overall, what they'd seen... It had not improved their opinions of humankind.

"What about you, _Maron_?" Android 11 teased, knowing that the subject irritated his partner and throwing in her 'human' name for emphasis. "Learn anything yesterday?"

**ooxoo**


	10. Radiate: October 5th, 763 AD

_**Eclipse**_

**by DoraMouse**

**ooxoo**

**Radiate: October 5th, 763 A.D.**

**e**rg ...

_What the ... ?_

Tenshinhan didn't open his eyes. He didn't need to right away. He had never relied too heavily on any one sense. Even without sight, the place didn't seem familiar. He knew that he wasn't at home. He could sense a few kis around. Average human strength. Nothing familiar there either. He didn't know if there were people or cameras watching him. But he didn't feel like provoking their interest. As long as he didn't seem awake, maybe they would leave him alone for a bit.

Who were 'they'? Where was this place? How had he gotten here? How long had he been unconscious?

He didn't know.

Tenshinhan was confused. He wasn't tied up, he didn't need to open his eyes to figure that out. He couldn't feel any restraints. The only pains he currently felt related to hunger and thirst. Maybe he had been unconscious for a while? Perhaps this was a hospital? Wouldn't a hospital have hooked up an IV? Surely, he'd notice that. He'd hear the machines. And hospitals had a certain atmosphere to them. This wasn't a hospital. Didn't feel like one, anyway. Was too quiet. And there weren't any life support machines attached to him. Although maybe he hadn't needed life support. Maybe he hadn't been out for too long.

He felt as if he'd been asleep for ages. The numbness was only starting to wear off. Aches and pains began to register. Tenshinhan ignored them. He took note of the delayed reaction though. The numbness. The cold. He'd been through this once or twice before in his life. Recognized the warnings.

So he'd been sedated. Hardly ever a good thing.

He needed to get up. That would help his circulation get back to normal. Help him stay warm. It seemed safe - the energy signatures that Tenshinhan could sense were not threatening. He risked squinting at the room, saw no one and cautiously pulled himself to his feet.

The room was empty. Concrete walls, ceiling and floor. No windows. One door, wide open. No decoration. No signs of cameras or motion detectors or other alarms. Not exactly a comfortable place for a nap but easily escaped. As far as Tenshinhan could tell he'd been brought here, put aside and forgotten. It seemed almost too good to be true. If someone had gone to the trouble of bringing him here then why wouldn't they have - ?

Tenshinhan did not want to think about it. He checked his pockets. Everything was still there. His clothes hadn't been touched, he was still bundled up for winter. His shoulders bore the only injuries that he didn't remember getting. A couple of small bumps. Probably where he'd been given the sedatives.

How long had he been here?

No. It didn't matter. Well. It DID matter but Tenshinhan wasn't going to stay here to figure it out. He could figure it out later, somewhere else. He was leaving. A hole in the ceiling ought to be simple enough.

Voosh. A thin bolt of colorless energy shot past Tenshinhan and impacted the wall behind him. A warning shot. It had come from the doorway. Something was in the shadows beyond. How long had it been watching him? Why hadn't he sensed - ?!

A voice, sounding hollow and far away, said: "Commence materials test."

**ooxoo**

**T**he world was a mess. Still a mess, rather. The dark mist had fallen from above three days ago and everyone alive, everyone awake had been turned to zombies.

Imagine. People in cars. People in aircars. People in boats, trains and commercial aircraft. People at work. Construction crews, police, nurses. People on vacation. Rock climbers, hikers, hang gliders. There are over seven billion people on Earth. At any given moment someone on the planet is underwater. Someone is working with dangerous power tools. Someone is having a medical emergency. All these sorts of things. And then - poof. The dark mist had come. Zombies.

Vehicles of every sort had crashed as their drivers fell into zombie mode. People in swimming pools and bath tubs had drown. Patients in the middle of surgery. Women giving birth. People doing any sort of task that required balance, precision and timing - the outcome had not been good. Even otherwise mundane tasks had been disrupted to lethal degress. The estimated death toll was frighteningly high. The number of missing people was equally intimidating and always on the rise. The world was indeed a mess. There wasn't a single person on Earth who hadn't lost someone.

Hence the general public was, understandably, in shock. Most people could not remember what had happened three days ago. Many had regained awareness to find themselves in the midst of a disaster area. Everyone wanted answers. What had happened to them? Had the evil aliens returned?

Kami paced the Lookout. He was tempted to go down and explain things. Mentally, he had the speech all planned out. He would begin by telling the people of Earth that he was in fact their local god. Then he would go on to explain that three hundred and two years ago, a creature named Garlic had attacked their world. He would add that Garlic Senior had been defeated and banished to another dimension. He would finish by mentioning that the attack on Earth three days ago had been caused by a creature named Garlic Junior, who had been trying to avenge his fathers loss three centuries ago.

But... It never came out right. The speech always sounded good in his mind but when it came to saying the words aloud, he could never get past: "Hi, I'm Kami."

Argh! He couldn't go down there! Who was going to believe that HE was the local god? Humans had their own ideas on the subject. They liked to imagine that the god of Earth was human. And most humans on Earth didn't know what the word 'Namek' meant. They wouldn't SEE Kami as a Namek. They'd see him as a demon. They would remember Piccolo Daimios attempt to take over the world nine years ago and Piccolo Juniors destructive battles at the 23rd Tenkaichi Budoukai. And they'd assume that Kami was just another green demon.

Although... Kami shuddered. What if someone DID believe him? What if the humans went the other way and started to accuse him of failing in his duties? It was inevitable, really. Someone was bound to ask. Why hadn't he saved the world from Garlic Junior? Why hadn't he saved the world from the invading Saiyans? Why hadn't he saved humans from everything they found objectionable? What kind of guardian was he, anyway?

The humans didn't - couldn't - understand how difficult taking care of an entire planet was. People seemed to expect their god to be omnipotent and all-powerful. Kami was neither of these things. He did what he could to protect Earth. His best efforts weren't always enough.

Kamis heart ached for the Earthlings. He felt the losses as keenly as anyone else. It was not going to be easy but they would just have to pull through this. One day at a time. He wished that he could do more but -

Wishes. Hrmmm.

Sixty stranded Nameks had left Earth a month ago, in September. They were settling on New Planet Namek now. Kami could probably contact them with telepathy if he ever needed to. But the Namekian dragonballs wouldn't be ready to use again for another three months at least. And it seemed impolite to bother them so soon. What if the Nameks needed those wishes for themselves? Why not leave them be? Porunga had already helped the Earth more than most Earthlings would ever realize.

Besides, Earth had its own set of dragonballs. And they would be ready for use in two months. Shenlong had been summoned in late December of the previous year, to reincarnate everyone that Freezia had killed on the original Namekian planet. So in late December of this year, Shenlong could be summoned once more.

Perhaps by then the humans wouldn't need the help of a wish.

Kami watched Earth. It was a mess down there. Would be a mess for a while. But, slowly, people were starting to clean it up.

He pulled the hood of his dark blue cloak over his antenna, a gesture that activated the cloaks internal magic and rendered Kami invisible to mortal eyes. Thus disguised, he went down to do what he could to encourage the recovery process.

**ooxoo**

**T**enshinhan didn't bother announcing his attacks. Why should he tell his opponents what he was doing? It wasn't as if anyone else was nearby. He didn't need to warn innocent bystanders to get out of the way.

He did, however, need to tell someone to get out his head. Chaozus presence had been almost immediate. Tenshinhan didn't mind too much but it was a distraction. He couldn't answer most of Chaozus telepathic questions. He had no idea where he was. Underground - that was his best guess.

Fighting was never easy. Certain warriors just made it LOOK easy. Tenshinhan, in top form, was one of those. But right at this moment... Well. He hadn't been in the best of health to begin with. He was definitely coming down with a cold or something. And now hunger and thirst pangs on top of that. Plus all the aches that one might expect to get from taking a long nap on a cold concrete floor. The fact that he couldn't detect his opponents ki made strategy a tad more challenging. The fact that his opponents looked familiar... Tenshinhan mentally kicked himself. He'd hesitated. He'd even pulled one or two punches. He was defending more than attacking. Granted, he didn't feel all that threatened. Curious and confused, yes - but not threatened.

No point in asking questions. His senses told him everything he needed to know. He was not being attacked by Yamucha and Bulma. They LOOKED like Yamucha and Bulma but the kis were wrong. More specifically, the energy signatures were absent. And the fighting styles were off. Not that Bulma'd ever HAD a fighting style.

This was... Bizarre. His opponents were obviously not what they looked like.

Tenshinhan found the whole situation deeply disturbing. Which was part of why he hadn't left yet. He didn't want to leave without finding out where these opponents had come from. Were these things clones? What if there were others? What if someone had also cloned Kuririn or Goku? What if they'd gotten Gohan?

What if they'd gotten him?

Enough of this.

Neither of his opponents were very fast. They didn't seem able to fly. Their ki attacks... Was that even ki? The strange energy didn't register. And it was painfully clear that neither of his opponents had studied martial arts for more than five minutes. Just the way they carried themselves. There were all kinds of holes in their defenses.

Like that one, for example.

Android 11 dropped to the floor in an undignified heap, a look of surprise etched in his features. Tenshinhan withdrew his hand from the androids neck and delivered a kick to the spine.

Crunch. There. Nice, clean death. Quick and humane. Tenshinhan was a former assassin. He was professional about it. He didn't believe in making creatures suffer or bleed all over the place. Aside from being just sick and disrespectful, letting someone suffer took time. It was inefficient. And risky. Messy deaths left clues. Retired or not, professional assassins did not want to leave clues.

Tenshinhan focused on his remaining opponent. What had he been worried about? This wasn't even worth powering up for.

He was worried about the ki, _that's_ what he was worried about. If he hadn't been able to detect these two then there could be more. And he wouldn't be able to detect them either.

The Bulma-look-alike was circling him and swearing. If that her was best defense, she was doomed. Actually, she was doomed anyway. Another benefit of having been a professional assassin was equal opportunity. If you were going to kill members of one gender then why not kill members of the other gender as well? They were all just people, in Tenshinhans mind. Just humans. He couldn't get sentimental about it.

He didn't.

Android 12 was flung into the floor. Crunch. She did not get up.

"Initiating phase two."

There it was again. That voice. The same one that had spoken earlier, sounding so hollow and distant. Where was it coming from? Tenshinhan approached the wall, visually searching for any sign of an intercom.

A jolt of energy cobwebbed painlessly through every nerve in his body. Tenshinhan froze in place. He didn't have much choice, he was paralyzed. He recognized this attack. And he knew that his attacker was not in the room. The clones - if they were clones - were still on the floor. Whirring and clicking but down.

_Chaozu!_

_I'm not apologizing. _Came the brisk telepathic reply. _I'll break the hold on one condition: You. Leave. Now._

_Some choice._ Tenshinhan thought back, aware that Chaozu had been watching the short-lived battle through his eyes. _What if there are more of these things?_

_Then let them come to us. That's probably what they'll do anyway._ Chaozu reasoned. _Don't put yourself at a disadvantage, Ten-san. They know where they are. You don't._

True.

_All right. I'm out of here. Promise._

_Deal._

The paralysis faded. Tenshinhan flexed his fingers, grumbled a few minor complaints about psychics and powered up. Not all the way. Just enough that the floor started to crumble in the wake of his aura. The walls were shaking so badly that the ceiling began to fall apart of its own accord. Tenshinhan darted upward.

**ooxoo**

**"O**h yea? Well maybe if you had to clean up after these battles, you wouldn't be so eager to fight." Yajirobe turned his back on Piccolo and faced Kuririn, "Look, I can't stay long. There's a lot of work to do. What'd you call me for?"

"It's about Maron - " Kuririn began.

"Stay the heck away from her." Yajirobe interrupted, stalking towards his aircar. "Is that it? I really need to get back to - "

"Waitasec! No, that's NOT it! Why do you say that about her? It's not like she's dangerous, right? Yajirobe?"

The samurai sighed. He folded his arms and privately wished, not for the first time, that he could have a normal life instead of always being entrusted with divine secrets. "Kuririn, there isn't a single person on Earth who couldn't break your arm. Just remember that. Okay? You're not invincible."

"I never said I was!" Kuririn protested. "And don't change the subject! What have you got against Maron? I just want to hear the reasons."

"Then you'll have to talk to Korin." Yajirobe said as he climbed back into his aircar. "I'm sworn to silence. Just stay away from her though. All right?"

Kuririn scowled and threw a sideways glance at Piccolo. "How about you? Kami said anything?"

"Hmf." Piccolo growled with contempt at the mention of Kami. As usual, Piccolo wasn't on speaking terms with his uncle. "Why should the immortals care about who you keep company with anyway?"

Piccolo was a Namek and a self-proclaimed demon. He had never had any understanding of - or any desire to understand - the full range of human emotions. As far as Piccolo was concerned, the term 'date' only had two definitions: a) a type of dried fruit or b) the small section of a calendar also known as a 'day'. He was openly hostile when it came to any other meanings for the word. The way Piccolo saw it, romance was a strictly human disease.

"I'm not dating her anymore." Kuririn lowered his voice to a nervous whisper. "She didn't have ki." Snapping out of his momentary funk, he rushed forward and placed a hand on the front of the aircar.

The aircar hit the sand below with a thud. Kuririn was preventing it from leaving.

"There is one other thing. Can you sense Tenshinhan anywhere?"

Yajirobe concentrated for a moment then shrugged. "Yea. North." A look of concern clouded the typical irritation in his features. "You can't sense that?"

"I can now." Kuririn hadn't been paying attention to the world of energy a moment ago. He'd been preoccupied with other thoughts. Plus he honestly hadn't been expecting the ki to be there - they'd searched for three days without finding anything. Kuririn had begun to assume that Tenshinhan was dead.

He was glad to be proven wrong.

"Thanks."

Piccolo was already flying away from Kame Island. Kuririn quickly followed him.

**ooxoo**

_**A**__ugh! Chaozu!_

Tenshinhan could detect his friend. Chaozu was in the general area but was, wisely, staying out of Tenshinhans attack range. Which made Chaozus own attacks about eighty times more effective. Because breaking Chaozus concentration without attacking him was close to impossible.

_I'm FINE._ Tenshinhan knew that he wasn't convincing anyone but he still felt the need to protest their current destination. _I was just sedated! I don't need to see a doctor!_

_Uh-huh._ Chaozu wasn't phased.

An interesting thing about Chaozu was that - not counting the self-destruct technique - he only had three attacks. He didn't need any more than that. Dodonpa, the finger blast. Taiyouken, the blinding flare of light. And, his own personal favorite, telekinesis.

It wasn't really an attack. More of a prevention method. Telekinesis meant using your energy to move things without touching them. It could also be used to prevent things from moving. Chaozu liked this part best. He could paralyze people. That meant no one could attack him. Not unless he let them or they caught him off guard.

And as long as he stayed out of range ... Then he could paralyze people AND drag them off to, say, the hospital. Both at once. Wasn't that what friends were for?

_I should warn you, it's gonna be crowded there._ Chaozu added. _A lot of people have been hurt lately._

Frustration tainted Tenshinhans mental voice. _I'm NOT HURT!_

_I believe you, Ten-san. But I want a second opinion. Just to be safe._

**ooxoo**


	11. Crossfire: October 6th, 763 AD

_**Eclipse**_

**by DoraMouse**

**ooxoo**

**Crossfire: October 6th, 763 A.D.**

_**S**__ensei._

The ghosts wanted to keep Ranshin alive. She was a psychic and a medium - the ghosts could talk to her. They could to talk to other people through her. Only a handful of creatures on Earth had the gift. In theory, everyone on the planet had the potential but only a handful had developed it into a skill. Thus it was important, the ghosts thought, to preserve the few living creatures that could hear them.

So when Ranshin had run away, advice from ghosts had kept her alive. And when the dark mist had fallen to Earth four days ago, the ghosts had knocked her out. Ranshin had not been turned into a zombie. She had been training inside the dojo when she had fainted. She had recovered later the same day, after Garlic Juniors defeat, and she had continued training. She hadn't even realized, at first... Well. No. Not quite. Ranshin HAD sort of realized. The eerie unnatural stillness of the dojo and surrounding city. The charged atmosphere. Wave after wave of distant sirens. The sickening feeling of dread that had crept up her spine and made the hairs at the back of her neck stand on end.

Ranshin had realized that something very bad had happened to the world. She'd spent a day trying to ignore it. Trying to train. Trying to focus on the positive.

Trying to brace herself for what she expected to see when she left her room.

It had been worse than she'd imagined. Much worse.

And - thanks to the numerous spirits around her - she was one of the few people on Earth with a rough idea of what had taken place. Not that it made a lot of sense. Ghosts had tried to tell her about an evil alien and a dark cloud. But currently, Ranshin had trouble hearing them clearly. Because there were so MANY new ghosts. All talking at once.

For Ranshin, the last four days had been one big migraine interspersed with vivid moments of shock, terror and sadness.

_Sensei Jitsugen..._

He had not been so fortunate. Yet Ranshin could not complain. Not after the devestation she'd witnessed in the past few days. Sensei Jitsugen was, at least, still alive. Barely, at the moment but he would recover. He had to. All the doctors had predicted that he would. Ranshin believed them.

She was four, nearly five, years old. The doctors used big words. Ranshin didn't understand them most of the time and the ghosts weren't helping much. The new ghosts were confused and scared and rather surprised to be dead. They didn't answer her questions because they were too busy asking their own questions. The old ghosts - the ones that had been dead for more than a week - were preoccupied with the need to comfort their new peers.

Ranshin could hear all of the spirits. But it was as if they'd stopped listening to her. So she didn't know what exactly was wrong with Sensei Jitsugen. She did understand that it was serious. The doctors had told her that her sensei would not be able to teach martial arts anymore. She did understand that.

And it made her eager to leave the hospital. Because she had to train. Now more than ever. She wasn't old enough to teach martial arts. She wasn't certified to teach. She couldn't take over the dojo. But there was hope. The local tournaments. As long as they weren't cancelled again - that issue was in debate - she had to enter them. It wasn't just about making her sensei proud and searching for the other genetic children anymore. She had to win the prize money. For Sensei Jitsugen. Because if he couldn't teach martial arts then what would happen to him? How was he supposed to pay his bills?

She paced. Back and forth, back and forth. Never straying far from the doorway. The big double doors were closed. Sensei Jitsugen was on the other side, Ranshin wasn't entirely sure what the doctors were doing to him. Operating. Whatever that meant.

Ranshin shuddered. She had a bad feeling about all this. It made her glad, actually, that she didn't know the details.

There was, however, the larger problem.

The hospital was packed. Absolutely crammed full of people with every sort of injury imaginable. The doctors - many of whom were starting to suffer from exhaustion - were having to turn away people whose injuries weren't life-threatening. Yet patients still filled the rooms and lined the hallways. Riots in the lobby were frequent.

In fact, this was the third hospital that Ranshin had been in. The first one had been too crowded so they'd put Sensei Jitsugen on a helicopter. The second hospital had run out of - or perhaps, had been robbed of - supplies. So Sensei Jitsugen had been flown here. It did strike Ranshin as a tiny bit strange that Sensei Jitsugen seemed to warrant special treatment. With so many people injured, it did seem as if an awful lot of effort was going into saving one relatively unknown martial arts sensei. Still. Ranshin was grateful. A little bit perplexed by the special treatment but grateful anyway.

She paced and stared at her feet. She tried to ignore the view from the window.

Ranshin had never seen the city outside before. Never set foot in it. Wasn't even sure what the name of the place was. But... Ranshin had the distinct feeling that if she had been standing here, looking out at the city a week ago... Then she wouldn't recognize what was left of the city today.

Traffic accidents were the worst. People had crashed into each other, into buildings, into everything. The vehicles were strewn all over. Aircars hanging out skyscraper windows. Trucks half buried in houses. And with the collisions had come the fires, many of which continued to burn. Dark smoke clogged the skyline. There just weren't enough healthly people to put the flames out.

Ranshin felt awful beyond words. There were so many people in need of help. She wanted to do something yet she grew rigid just thinking about it. Where to begin? She couldn't decide. Who would accept her help anyway? She was a little girl with three eyes. People might be afraid of her. What if that just made the situation worse?

Above all else, Ranshin felt guilt and anger. This was outrageous! That one stupid evil alien could come along and cause so much pain. What gave aliens the right?! What gave ANYONE the right?

Could she have prevented it? Ranshin wasn't sure why but she felt that maybe she could have made a difference. She took a calming breath. "Peace over anger." She reminded herself and, with some difficulty, turned the emotions off.

She wasn't out to prove anything. But next time... And there WOULD be a next time, Ranshin thought, because she was only four and had already seen the world endangered twice in her life. And next time... Those evil aliens were gonna regret picking on Earth. Ranshin wasn't certain how she would accomplish this. But she resolved that she would.

Right then, a pair of mangled young people walked past. Completely ignoring her. But Ranshin saw them. Ranshin saw the direction they had gone. And Ranshin knew what they were.

Androids.

**ooxoo**

**A** hospital. Of all places. Tenshinhan resented hospitals. He was nearly thirty years old. He didn't need hospitals. He could take care of himself, as he had done for most of his life.

Why the doctors hadn't kicked him out yet, Tenshinhan did not know. Considering the number of people around who were in far more immediate need of medical care, it didn't make any sense. But all seven of the other warriors on Earth - plus both Puar and Oolong - had threatened to injure him if he left the hospital before the doctors excused him.

Kuririn, Yamucha, Master Roshi, Yajirobe, Piccolo, Gohan and Chaozu. In one-on-one battles, Tenshinhan knew that he could beat most of them. Chaozu would be difficult, Piccolo could be a challenge and Gohan - if the kid didn't back out of the fight completely - might be a close call. But defeat all of them at once? Not right now, anyway. Nobody was guarding him. But they could all sense his ki. So Tenshinhan stayed in the hospital. Leaning against the wall of a corridor. Refusing to lay down and rest. Trying to ignore the multiple IVs that were now attached to his arms.

Apparently he'd been gone for three days. So there was a very real chance that something had happened to him while he'd been unconscious. Tenshinhan did not like to dwell on this concept. Instead he closed his eyes and focused on the kis of the world. And was able to see - to sense - the amount of damage that Garlic Junior had caused in one day. Ki is personal energy. Ki is attached to emotion. Everywhere on Earth there was a vast sense of emptiness and loss. The pained energies of living creatures served only to highlight the numerous absences.

He picked out the energies of the Earths Special Forces and wondered why the warriors had even let the media call them that. They hadn't defended Earth. They had tried, on more than one occasion, to defend Earth but without Goku victory seemed impossible.

It was aggravating. With all due respect to Goku, he didn't deserve the credit. He just didn't. Because right now, out there, the other defenders of Earth were doing everything in their collective power to help resolve a crisis. Chaozu, Yamucha, Kuririn, Gohan, Yajirobe, Korin, Mister Popo, Piccolo and Kami. Each in a different city. Each one no doubt helping to pull survivors from the wreckage and put out flames. Even Puar and Oolong were helping out. Even Master Roshi and his elder sister, Madame Baba. Even ChiChi and Ox King. Even Bulmas parents. Maybe even Bulma. And there were new heros emerging. Some guy called Hercule, for example, had been in the news a lot recently for his dedication to the rescue efforts in Satan City. True. Goku probably would have helped as well, if he had been around. But he wasn't around. Goku hardly ever seemed to be around for this kind of thing - the clean up. Of course, if Goku HAD been around in the first place... This wouldn't have happened, would it?

Tenshinhan hated to think this way. While he had some grudges against Goku, those were few and far between. It was hard to hold a grudge against someone who was either dead or lost in space. Really, it wasn't so much the warrior as the war. Tenshinhan didn't understand why a planet should rely on a single person - or Saiyan, as the case may be - to protect it. Technically... Why should a planet expect protection?

Some part of Tenshinhan wanted to leave the hospital and help rescue people. It was a small part. Mostly he just wanted to go home and ignore the Earths problems. He was tired and he had his own problems to deal with.

What point was there in saving people today if you couldn't defend them in the future? Why worry about people dying? Those who died would probably get wished back to life, as soon as the dragonballs were useable again. Therefore rescuing people seemed noble and yet at the same time, a complete waste of effort. Same for training. What good was training? Tenshinhan had been knocked unconcious by the dark mist and then sedated for three days. He hadn't been given a chance to fight Garlic Junior. Why should he believe that future invaders would give him a chance?

Tenshinhan wondered if his presence would have made a difference at the battles against Garlic Junior four days ago. And he sincerely doubted it. Tenshinhan acknowledged his own power. But what good was strength going to do when he was up against magics or chemicals?

It wasn't natural. It just wasn't natural. The whole situation. Evil aliens abruptly showing up out of nowhere and causing mass destruction. Wishing back entire populations. It was just ... Wrong. Why not leave the dead people dead? They were mortal - they couldn't live forever. They were going to die again someday anyway. And why not destroy the dragonballs? Maybe evil aliens wouldn't be drawn to Earth so frequently if the planet didn't have the artifacts.

The natural balance of things was off. Tenshinhan could not look forward to the future. Because these things ... The effects ... Earth was breaking natural laws. And nature was, philosophically speaking, the ultimate assassin. Mess with a killer of that caliber and ... Yea. The Earths future wasn't going to be pretty. Tenshinhan didn't have to be psychic to know that much.

If only they could get the balance back.

Tenshinhan was close to dozing off when the corridor exploded. Almost literally. A power level jumped into existence and filled the hallway with a pale green glow. It wasn't a massively strong ki - above average but nowhere near the levels that human members of Earths Special Forces had attained. It was, however, extremely hostile.

A scream. Or was it a warcry? And then ... A blistering wave of light.

_... Taiyouken?_

Someone inside the building was using one of _his_ attacks?!

Tenshinhan was caught off guard by the concept and likewise by the attack. So he spent a moment blinded and wondering where the heck the unfamiliar ki was coming from. Who did it belong to? He assumed, of course, that the owner of the hostile ki had to be after him.

Just as Ranshin had assumed that the androids had to be after her.

While she was not a match for Earths Special Forces in power or speed... Ranshin had been created by the Red Ribbon Army. She had been designed to fight android prototypes. She'd been doing that for most of her life. She knew where to aim.

Another warcry. A blur of movement. The sound of shattering glass.

Tenshinhans bewilderment multiplied. He could not begin to believe what he'd just seen go by. Some little girl had kicked a ki-less opponent through the window at the end of the hall. Where had the kid learned to fly? Where had the kid learned taiyouken? And he _couldn't_ have seen her face right. He flat out refused to believe that.

A firey explosion outside rocked the building. Tenshinhan decided that he wasn't critically dehydrated anymore, so he ripped out the IVs and went to investigate.

**ooxoo**

**N**ot THEM too! Jeez! This just was not her week!

Ranshin landed, took cover and forced her power down.

Tearing androids to pieces was one thing. Easy enough, if you knew where to aim. Because the Red Ribbon scientists had always been a bit frightened of androids. They'd never admitted it, not around Dr. Gero. Yet it was obvious. The scientists had wanted a safeguard. A way to destroy any android that turned against them. That's why the androids - even the prototypes - always had an internal bomb. Just in case.

So destroying an android was a matter of aim and speed. Hit the bomb. Hard. Get out of range. Fast. Badda bing, badda boom. With emphasis on the boom. Okay. So it wasn't always THAT easy. The androids had a LOT of armor to get through but knowing where to aim helped. And all the training Ranshin had done, especially in the last few months, also helped.

Earths Special Forces, though ... Ranshin only had vague ideas about how they fought. The Crane Master had made her study videos - running in super-slow motion so that the images weren't simply blurs - of them at past Tenkaichi Budoukais. But the warriors had probably changed since then. Their fighting styles and everything. So, despite her own improvements, Ranshin wasn't a hundred percent sure that she could beat them.

She didn't really want to fight them anyway. She'd heard stories about the warriors of Earths Special Forces. They had died. Now they were alive again. Ranshin did not want opponents like that.

Ah. Only one of them. Good. Maybe she could outrun the warrior. But if she took off then how was she going to get back in the hospital? The other android, Android 12, was still inside somewhere. What if Sensei Jitsugen was in danger?

Ranshin could detect energy but she didn't understand the talent. Neither of her teachers had really been able to detect ki. The ghosts that she was surrounded by, they couldn't detect ki. No one had explained it to her. So Ranshin was vaguely aware of the various higher-than-average energies on Earth but she didn't understand what this meant. She didn't know that she was sensing people - their moods, their power levels and their direction relative to her. She didn't realize that other people might also be able to detect her in this way, even when she was powered down.

She certainly didn't realize how much fear she was projecting in her ki.

The lone warrior hovered above for a few long moments then flew away. Ranshin released the breath she'd been holding and shot back into the hospital.

**ooxoo**


	12. Hazy: October 16th, 763 AD

_**Eclipse**_

**by DoraMouse**

**ooxoo**

**Hazy: October 16th, 763 A.D.**

**H**is Supreme Majesty Kyoto Amaterasu sat upon a throne. He was the World Emperor. Commander of the Imperial and World Armys. Overseer of the Treasury. Supreme Justice of the courts. Granted, he had legions of government officials to help with these tasks. But in the end, in theory, he had the final say in matters. He was, in terms of political influence, the most powerful person on Earth.

He didn't often feel like it.

" - draw the line!" A minister asked, pacing the floor. Murmurs of approval filled the room.

Representatives of every precinct and branch of government were in attendance. Many of these officials were brand new, replacements for people that were either dead or missing. Selections had been rushed and they'd been sworn in hurridly. Everyone was nervous. The newcomers weren't comfortable in their roles yet, some had never served in government before. The older politicians weren't comfortable with having so many newcomers around. How well would the group work together? It was a concern. There was a lot of work to do. The representatives sat on rows of benchs arranged in the shape of a large diamond. The speakers paced the open space in the center. The World Emperor, Kyoto Amaterasu, watched and listened from behind the curtains of his raised dias.

Androids. That was the issue in debate today.

What exactly was an android? According to current laws, 'android' was defined as a human corpse animated by the use of mechanical implants. The creation of androids was illegal. Human cloning was also illegal, in case any corrupt scientists decided to try that route.

But what if there were other definitions? This was what had the World Government worried.

If a human was born without a limb ... Or if a human lost a limb in an accident ... Then did getting an artificial limb make that person an android? What if the person wanted to get, say, a giant laser cannon instead of an artificial arm?

Almost a year ago, invading aliens had destroyed a section of East Capital City. Fourteen days ago, something had destroyed a decent portion of the worlds population. So now the Earth was full of hurt people. Scared, hurt people. People who had lost homes and friends and family. People who had lost limbs. People who had lost practically everything.

People who wanted to be able to defend themselves. People who wanted revenge.

Red Ribbon, INC was already offering its services to the world. Now it was up to the World Government to decide if those services were legal.

"Yet could we not benefit from - ?" An official asked of the assembled crowd.

Seven billion people. Well. Significantly less than that now. Perhaps five billion? Perhaps four? No one was certain. A census to find out how many people were still alive on Earth was in progress but far from completed. Since the ... dark mist, apparently ... Death rates had jumped. Crime rates had jumped. People were reacting violently to their losses. It was just a fiasco. Surviving experts had estimated that it would take at least five years for the world population to stabilize. Possibly double that for the economy to recover. And that was only if there were no new catastrophes.

The human population of Earth was likely still in the billions. If all of those people were armed... If replacing limbs with weapons became legal... Would it cause disaster? Or might the Earth benefit from the extra defense? Why rely on just the Earths Special Forces? Why not rely on Earths population as a whole? Surely, billions people fighting together would stand a better chance than a handful of elite warriors.

Red Ribbon, INC thought so. The media agreed. The anguished general public was following suit.

Members of the World Government argued. And when the arguments were done, the officials - new and old - voted. And when the votes were counted, it was a tie. His Supreme Majesty, Kyoto Amaterasu, became the center of attention. He had the tie-breaking vote.

He sat in silence for a long time.

**ooxoo**

**I**t had to have been an illusion. He'd been half asleep anyway. Maybe he'd just imagined it. Or maybe he hadn't. Maybe there were other triclops on Earth. Yea. Why not? The kid probably belonged to ...

...

Okay. So Tenshinhan couldn't think of any names. But just because he didn't KNOW of any other triclops on Earth - that didn't mean they weren't out there. Right?

Although, triclops or not, the fact of the matter was that the kid had flown. The kid had used an energy attack. If the girl hadn't been a hallucination ... If the kid did have parents somewhere ... Then how had she learned taiyouken? Try as he might, Tenshinhan couldn't explain that part away. It seemed too much of a coincidence. There was a little triclops running around on Earth that knew one of his attacks. The thought floored him every single time it crossed his mind.

The kid couldn't be his! He'd never gotten THAT attached to anyone! Professional assassins generally didn't. Too much of a hazard, considering their line of work.

A door slammed.

"Won't know for sure until the season starts." Yamucha paused and glanced up. "Uhm?"

"I'm FINE." Tenshinhan grumbled as he left the ceiling and resumed a somewhat forced casual stance.

"Yea. Sure. You and Kuririn both." Yamucha muttered, nonplussed. "At this rate, one of you is gonna end up killing me by accident."

Tenshinhan returned to the subject that had started their conversation. "So you haven't seen this guy?"

"Not that I remember." Yamucha shrugged. This was starting to worry him. First Kuririn and now Tenshinhan, both nervous. Both asking the same questions. Did he have any new coworkers? Had he met a baseball player that looked just like him? "Deal with amount of people that I do on a daily basis - "

Yamucha shrugged. He couldn't remember every single face. Didn't even attempt to detect every single persons ki.

In truth, Yamucha was aware of the rumors. And he had gone out of his way to avoid this person, this new baseball player that looked just like him. Because Yamuchas past was hazy. For all Yamucha knew, he might in fact have an identical twin. He'd been separated from his family for more than half his life. His biological relatives had never come looking for him and so Yamucha didn't feel compelled to renew contact with his clan. He had adopted Puar as a little sister, she was all the family he needed.

He placed a duffle bag on the kitchen counter and double checked the contents. First aid kit. Water. Ice packs. Blankets. "I suppose next you'll be wanting to hear about Maron."

Tenshinhan blinked. "Who?"

"Ah, that's right. You didn't meet her. Lucky."

"This 'Maron' person - she didn't happen to look an awful lot like Bulma, did she?"

Yamucha arched an eyebrow, closed the duffle bag and hefted it over a shoulder. "I don't even want to know how you guessed that." He made his way to the front door. "Look, you can stay here if you want but I've gotta take off. There's still a lot to do."

"Why do you bother?" Tenshinhan wondered.

It had been fourteen days now. The clean up effort had made scant progress. Rescue workers were not expecting to find any more survivors.

Yamucha indicated his mansion with an open palm. "I owe my fans." He departed without another word.

Tenshinhan stood listening for a moment. He could make out the sounds of Puar and her relatives dealing with the stray animals upstairs. The sounds of tow trucks and forklifts clearing the streets outside. The world population was so focused on the obvious problems. Tenshinhan couldn't help but feel that the general public was missing something. Something important. He let himself out of the mansion. He intended to find out exactly what the world was ignoring.

**ooxoo**

_**N**__ews flash._

The words appeared on every television station capable of broadcasting. Text scrolling across the top of the screen.

_World Emperor breaks tie-vote._

Ranshin turned the television off. She had already seen the news that she'd been dreading. Local tournaments had been cancelled.

The local tournaments were small non-professional affairs. So in a local tournament, an arena was basically a parking lot. And thanks to recent world events, parking lots were not safe to go near. Because all the debree being cleared from the roads was being piled up in parking lots. Plus, the tournament officials would add, no one was in the mood to fight. Or there weren't enough local competitors left alive to make holding a tournament practical. Or the prize money had been donated to charity. Or ... The list of excuses seemed infinite. Granted, many of the excuses were valid but they were still excuses. And hearing the excuses repeated had begun to get on Ranshins nerves.

As had the rest of the news. Theories on what had happened and why. Interviews with people rescued within the first few hours. Interviews with the people continuing to search through the rubble. Generous amounts of airtime dedicated to showing photos of missing people. Long solemn lists of obituaries.

Ranshin understood that it was relevant news. She didn't begrudge the world that much. But the news was immensely depressing and she could only stand it in small doses.

Nothing like twenty-four hour coverage of an international tragedy to inspire feelings of helplessness. All these creatures ... All over the world ... So much pain and sorrow.

Ki was attached to emotion. Ranshin could detect ki. She didn't quite understand the concept - didn't realize what she was doing. However for the last ten days ... Between the news, the ghosts and the overwhelming tone of the ki - Ranshin had begun to feel as if the world had ended. She tried to focus on the positive but ... She was sitting in an isolated waiting room of a beseiged hospital. She wasn't allowed to visit Sensei Jitsugen for more than a few minutes at a time and he didn't seem to be getting much better. The city outside was an unfamiliar disaster area. The local tournaments were cancelled. Android 12 had escaped.

Disappointed was an understatement.

More than once, Ranshin had found herself coming out of trances that she didn't fully remember falling into. Shaking, usually. Screaming, sometimes. How long had she been 'gone'? What had she done while entranced? She could never remember. The events of each trance faded as abruptly as the trance itself.

The fear lingered. The ki, the ghosts, the pain, the sorrow, the anger.

Ranshin could not turn it off. Could not tune it out. And it was getting to her. Haunting her every waking moment. Invading her dreams. With each passing minute - for lack of a better term, it was a lost cause. And Ranshin knew it. She felt drained. Tired. Those were HER feelings. But they were distant, faint. Muffled. Clouded. Buried under the collective weight of all the other thoughts and emotions being projected onto her.

She had hung on. She was still hanging on. But the trances had become more frequent in the past couple days. And Ranshin could feel it. Her control was slipping. It was only a matter of time. She would slip. She would tire out. It seemed inevitable. And then what? Ranshin wasn't sure.

But she was beginning to have a rough idea.

The waiting room was scorched. Melting floorboards. Charred black walls. Broken window. No trace of the carpet that had once been there. No trace of the wallpaper. No trace of the couch or the lamp. The only piece of furniture that had survived was the television stand. Ranshin stood, still shaking visibly. The room hadn't been like this earlier. She'd been sitting on the couch and then ... Her memory went blank for a while. The next thing she'd been aware of was standing in front of the tv, watching the news, hearing about the local tournaments and then turning the tv off.

She studied the room with increasing anxiety. Had she done this? She must have. She didn't remember it but who else could have done this? No one else was here. What if it happened again? What if someone got hurt next time? Would she come out of her next trance with blood on her hands?

Ranshin bolted out the window. Android 12 was out there somewhere. The Red Ribbon Army was out there somewhere. Earths Special Forces, evil aliens and a hundred other dangers were out there somewhere. Ranshin couldn't fear any of them. Not as much as she feared what she was becoming.

She had to get away. From the hospital, from Sensei Jitsugen, from everyone. Just until she figured this out. Just until it was safe.

**ooxoo**


	13. Starstruck: October 17th, 763 AD

_**Eclipse**_

**by DoraMouse**

**ooxoo**

**Starstruck: October 17th, 763 A.D.**

**K**i. Life energy. Mood. Spirit. Presence.

In truth, most people on Earth could detect ki. It wasn't a supernatural skill, it was a social skill. People had feelings. People had thoughts. Humans, as a species, had over two hundred thousand years of learning to read body language. So whenever one person became aware of another persons mood - ki detection. Sort of.

For all intents and purposes, the process of detecting ki is best compared to star gazing. On a clear evening, in an area without light pollution, anyone on Earth can look up and see the stars. Because the sky and the stars are there for everyone to see. But not everyone who sees the stars can name them. Not everyone who stares up at the night sky can identify the constellations.

There were at least four billion humans alive on Earth. And that was just the humans. There were also all kinds of other lifeforms on Earth. Birds, fish, insects, plants, animals, humanoid animals, the occasional humanoid alien. And every single one of those living creatures had energy. Projecting energy was part of life. Being aware of energy was part of survival. So everyone on Earth could, to some degrees, detect ki. In much the same way that just about anyone on Earth could look up at the night sky to see the stars.

Key concept here. Everyone CAN. Not everyone DOES. And not everyone who does, understands. Average people had energy skills. Average people who paid attention to their feelings... Average people who meditated... The skills got a little more advanced. A person might think of a friend that they hadn't heard from in ages and the ki would connect, causing them to 'coincidentally' hear from or cross paths with the very friend that had occupied their thoughts. That sort of thing. Average people didn't think of such events as being energy issues. They often didn't think about it all. It wasn't an entirely conscious process and the results didn't always come quickly. The connections weren't always easy to see and the 'coincidences' weren't usually questioned.

But even those who didn't meditate or pay much attention to their feelings... Average people could detect the general ki. The 'atmosphere'. They didn't even realize they were doing it most of the time. People might describe a city as having a certain 'feeling' or 'flavor' to it - without ever pausing to wonder what exactly created that. It wasn't just the architecture, the landscape and the food. It was the ki of the lifeforms in the area.

Less than twenty of the creatures currently on Earth could, at will, pick out individual ki signatures. Not an easy task. Because finding a specific ki often required ignoring the general ki.

Yamucha, for example, was in West Capital City. So in order to detect any one specific person, Yamucha would have to make a conscious effort to ignore the collective energy of every living thing in West Capital City first.

Distance was a factor. The further away a creature was, the more room there was for other kis to interfere. Power was another factor. A warrior who was fully powered up was about a million times easier to detect than a powered down warrior or an average person. Familiarity was yet another factor. It was always easier to find an individual ki signature when it belonged to a friend or relative. Even motion was a factor - it was a bit easier to locate the energy of someone who was standing still.

So Yamucha didn't notice the ki signature that passed West Capital City in late afternoon. All the factors were against it. The energy wasn't nearby, wasn't very strong, wasn't familiar and it was moving fast.

Plus Yamucha was preoccupied with the task of coaxing a domesticated stegosaurus out of a crumbling building. Because there were more than enough people, it seemed, devoted to taking care of the people who had survived Earths most recent disaster. Someone had to take care of all their abandoned pets.

A few other residents of West Capital City, people who happened to be outside and looking up, noticed a pale green shooting star. Some people even made wishes on it. Then it was gone from sight.

Ranshin kept flying.

**ooxoo**

**"M**akes perfect sense." said Chaozu.

He'd been an Emperor once. Chaozu had mixed feelings about what his life had become since then. A lot had changed. However one of the things that clearly hadn't changed much was world politics.

"How does making androids_ legal _make perfect sense?" Tenshinhan didn't typically have moods. Not visibly, anyway. Among assassins it was viewed as unprofessional. Assassins could HAVE thoughts and emotions and opinions. They just didn't make such things known very often. Because they never knew when such information might be used against them.

Nevertheless, ever since they'd found him twelve days ago, Tenshinhan had been upset in a way that likely had nothing to do with the necessary hospital visits. He wasn't outright angry but there were all kinds of clues. Just little stuff. Tenshinhan probably didn't even realize the extent to which he was venting.

Chaozu did.

The question, for example, was a strange one. How could Tenshinhan not know the answer? He'd worked for the government once or twice.

Mentally Chaozu shrugged. While he spoke, he pretended to read an old newspaper because there weren't any recent ones. Television and internet news coverage had been trying to replace newspapers for years. Now it seemed as if they'd finally succeeded. Garlic Juniors attack fifteen days ago had somehow managed to destroy most of the worlds publishing equipment. To say nothing of the many deceased reporters.

"Standard procedure." Chaozu explained, as he absently contemplated the crossword puzzle. "If people want something and you make it illegal then people are going to do it anyway. Make it legal and at least you can enforce some rules. Not to mention a tax. That way if the issue gets to be too much of a problem then you can take the money made from taxing the process and hire - "

Chaozu didn't have to look up to know that he was alone in the house. He finished the sentance anyway. " - an assassin."

He sighed.

For a moment, the house was silent. Then the sky outside flashed neon blue and made a noise comparable to a very large bug zapper. A few moments later, the sound of a door creaking open.

"There appears to be an electrical force field around the cabin." Growled the familiar voice of an upset triclops, "You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you Chaozu?"

Exasperation leaked into Chaozus tone. "We're EXILES, remember? The World Emperor is not going to hire you!"

"But that was years ago!"

"Hmf. As if that matters." Chaozu shook his head. "We're talking about the World Government here! They aren't exactly big on forgiveness."

Tenshinhan could have blown through the force field. He knew that. But he also knew Chaozu. And Chaozu didn't set traps around the cabin without good reason. If Chaozu thought that the World Government would enjoy having them beheaded for events that had happened years ago ... Well. Chaozu was the political expert.

It was one of those details that, Tenshinhan reflected, made living in isolation appealing. People could be so irritating. If you died trying to save Earth - all people seemed to notice was that you died. No official pardons of past crimes. No memorials. No thank you notes. Nothing.

No. If you died trying to save Earth then you weren't automatically a hero. You were just dead.

Death was natural but even so... This was a truly upsetting premise. Tenshinhan had spent a decent portion of his life trying to earn the respect of people in general. He knew that he wasn't viewed as 'normal'. He didn't expect to ever really fit in. He was tall and bald and had three eyes and could probably level a village simply by sneezing. Any one of those things would have been more than enough to make 'regular' people nervous around him. But Tenshinhan had trained hard. He'd tried to help defend the planet anyway. And this was how the world repaid his efforts. With nothing.

Not for the first - or last - time, Tenshinhan found himself wondering why he'd bothered. "So we're exiles." Tenshinhan grumbled as he moved through the house, fists clenched. "I'd like to see the World Government just TRY to -"

"What if they did?" Chaozu interrupted. "We still don't know who caught you, Ten-san." He waited a beat then folded the old newspaper and flew into the study. "I've been doing some research though."

The study had the appearance of a library that had been hit by a small hurricane. Chaozu levitated a few stacks of paper until he found what he was looking for. An atlas. A very detailed atlas. Each map complete with property lines.

Tenshinhan possessed the assassins knack for soundlessly entering a room.

"The property we found you on belongs to North Capital City." said Chaozu, "Red Ribbon owns this bit way over here."

"Red Ribbon?!" Tenshinhan tried not to sound as shaken as he felt. He'd dealt with Red Ribbon before, many times. Never a pleasant experience.

Chaozus tone had become cheerful. "Looks as if they may be trespassing, hmmm? And did you happen to see what this land is zoned for?"

"What are you planning?"

A faint smile crept into Chaozus features as he glanced at the rest of the paperwork in the room. Tenshinhan had just begun to notice how much of the paperwork appeared to concern the activities of the Red Ribbon Army. This by itself was not too surprising. Between being a psychic and a former Emperor, Chaozu had some fairly useful connections. Getting reliable information was not a worry. But what was Chaozu going to do with...

Sudden comprehension struck.

"You are _not _going to take Red Ribbon to court." More of statement than a question. Tenshinhan was mildly horrified by the concept.

Chaozu smiled and rubbed his hands together, a spark of mischief in his dark oval eyes. Politics was his element. "Oh that's the LEAST I can do, Ten-san."

"But we're exiles!" Tenshinhan hastily reminded his friend. Being a former assassin, the idea of going to court - in any capacity - made him nervous.

Chaozu continued smiling. "But my lawyers aren't."

**ooxoo**

**F**our bony tailspikes swept through the air, accompanied by a squelching rumble. It was a deceptive gesture. Almost lazy. But each spike was sharp and three feet long. And with so much weight behind the motion ...

Yamucha hovered to avoid being impaled.

The distressed stegosaurus continued to flail. The creature was frightened. It didn't seem to realize that it was bringing the building down on itself. The animal was already injured from falling debris and each time its lethal tailspikes punched another hole in the wall, it made the situation worse.

Yamucha mentally reviewed his options. If he caught the upper end of the tail - the part that wasn't covered in lethal spikes - then maybe he could drag the creature outside. He was strong enough to do it. That was the problem, in fact. Yamucha worried that he might be too strong. What if he accidentally ripped the poor animals tail off? That wouldn't help anything. Punching a hole in the building would be easy enough. But too risky. Much as Yamucha would have liked to have created an exit, another hole in the wall was the last thing this building needed. If he powered up abruptly enough, maybe he could vaporize the whole building before it collapsed on them. But what if he also vaporized the stegosaurus?

Who in their right mind kept a stegosaurus as a pet anyway? Stegosaurus didn't belong in cities! They were wild animals! Nomadic wild animals! They needed space! They shouldn't be kept inside buildings. They shouldn't be kept as solitary pets either. Stegosaurus were meant to live in herds.

Muttering quiet curses about the pet industry, Yamucha dove forward. "Sorry but this is for your own good."

His fist connected with the creatures skull. He wasn't using more than a fraction of his power but that was enough. The stegosaurus screeched, all four of its knees buckled and it sank to the ground with its eyes closed.

Great. Now he just had to move a messy, unconscious two ton lizard. Yamucha looked at the name engraved on the creatures collar. 'Spike'. How original.

The building shuddered.

"Hi."

Yamucha nearly left through the roof. He hadn't sensed anyone. Hadn't heard anyone approach. But one trick of being a celebrity was that you learned to recover from surprise very quickly. "Err. Hi." Yamucha managed in his best imitation of casual indifference. He blinked at the person standing a few paces away from him. All kinds of mental alarms were going off and his mind was full of questions. He picked the least incriminating one. "Uhm. Maron, isn't it?"

Without so much as a sideways glance at him, she approached the stegosaurus. "Mmm. We need to talk."

Yamucha wasn't sure where the words came from but ... "If you kill it, I'm not gonna talk to you. Just so you know."

Maron hesitated then shrugged. "Fine."

**ooxoo**


	14. Gravity: October 20th, 763 AD

_**Eclipse**_

**by DoraMouse**

**ooxoo**

**Gravity: October 20th, 763 A.D.**

**"A**liens."

A cluster of human children sat in a wide semi-circle on the autumn grass. Some fidgeted. Some dozed. For a group of children, they were remarkably well behaved. Most of the group was even paying attention.

"Do I even need to tell you about the aliens?! After what they done?!"

Just hearing the words - the tone. So angry. Should children be this angry? It sent a shiver down Proto7As spine. But she listened. She wanted to hear this. In her opinion, the adults had never been very good at explaining things. So Proto7A was hoping that these kids could help her make sense of what was going on in the world. After all, it was their world. They knew the place better than she did. These children had been out here their whole lives. She'd only escaped from Red Ribbon five months ago.

"You!" The apparent leader of the group whirled, pointed. "Do you know where your family is?"

Several members of the group whimpered.

A wavering voice rose in reply. "Kaasan went to work one day and never came home."

This seemed to break the ice. Confessions tumbled out, until most of the group was talking at once. Proto7A remained silent. Listening. She didn't know what it meant to have parents but the things she heard tugged at her anyway. These kids had lost their adults. Their families. They were sad and afraid and worried and not quite sure what to do with themselves. Some of the kids were hurt. Some hadn't eaten recently. Some had gotten lost while looking for their adults and, unable to return home, had been living in the streets. All of them had, at some point or another in their wanderings, witnessed something that would probably give them nightmares for the rest of their lives. And all of them had eventually fled the city. All of them had made it out here.

The leader of the group held up his hands for silence.

"It's strange cause I still remember it." A boy could be heard saying once most the rest of the group had gone quiet, "We had a farm back then, y'see - "

The leader of the group adopted a thoughtful stance. "Farm might be a good place to stay." He commented.

"Not a good place!" The boy piped up quickly. "The aliens ruined it. Long time ago. Killed my Pa n' everything. That's why we moved to the city, y'see."

The leader was incredulous for a moment. "They got your farm too?" And then he was angry, pacing the ground and hitting an open palm with a fist for emphasis. "Is there anything they missed? What have I been saying all along? These aliens - " And by 'aliens', it was generally understood that he was talking about anything that could both fly and make the sky temporarily change color. " - we gotta get rid of them before they get rid of us!"

Proto7A nodded in agreement. Then she caught herself. How would these kids classify her? She couldn't fly but ... Her thoughts wandered. She wondered if any of the other genetic children were still alive. They'd had to split up to avoid the androids.

Arguments erupted around her, bringing an end to Proto7As moment of private speculation. Some of the children wanted to go off and defeat the aliens right now. Others thought that the group should find a place to stay and get something to eat first.

"We ought to wait!" Someone was yelling over the din, "I bet there's other kids like us still in the city! If we could find 'em all, we'd have an army!"

More arguing. How would they find the other kids? Who would be in charge of the army? What could they do against flying aliens anyway? Why hadn't the adults done something? Maybe they should go back to the adults. Maybe they could help the adults. Or maybe the adults were against them as well? The debates were getting nowhere. It was just a lot of talk. Having a rough plan made some of the children feel better. But they were still hungry. They were still tired. And as soon as they were all willing to admit this, the arguing stopped. The group had other things to do. It was time to get moving.

Proto7A walked at the back of the group, head down. Lost in thought once more.

Red Ribbon Army had designed her for fighting androids. Maybe she could fight aliens too?

At not quite nine years old, Proto7A had been the eldest genetic child at the Red Ribbon labs. Just old enough to have a vague idea of how she'd been created. She didn't completely understand the process - it had never been fully explained to her. She just knew that the Red Ribbon Army had taken tiny bits of people that were strong and had put those bits into her because they'd wanted her to be strong. The same had been done to all the other genetics. Probably to the androids as well.

What if some of the bits that had been put into her were alien? Did being so strong make her less human? Could she fight against the aliens if she was one?

Proto7A glanced up. Watched the children around her. Knew the answer.

No matter how many of the bits inside were alien, she would always be mostly human. And so it was only right that she defend the humans. Somehow.

**ooxoo**

**"A**re you sure that's it?"

Yamucha was getting sick of having this conversation. "Kuririn - "

The problem with people like Kuririn, Yamucha decided, was that they were generally too polite to accuse anyone of anything outright. But the mere fact that they'd been through this - what? A hundred times in the past three days? At least? Felt like it. Anyway. Kuririn obviously did not believe that he was getting the whole truth. Which was understandable. Just that Yamucha didn't have the whole truth to work with either. So he couldn't tell Kuririn what he didn't know, no matter how much they both wanted to understand the situation.

Frustration was an understatement.

"Could you drop it already?"

The other problem with people like Kuririn was that when something really and truly bugged them, they came over in person to talk about it. Which meant that you couldn't easily ignore them.

"But _why you_?" Kuririn was saying, "Why did she come to you? She found the Kame House before. If she had really wanted to apologize to me - "

Yamucha felt a light weight on his shoulders shift. Cats. Puar was perched on his right shoulder. There was a small calico cat on his left shoulder - one of Puars relatives, Yamucha could never keep the names straight - and a third cat, another relative of Puars, hovering somewhere over his head. He didn't even have to see their faces. Yamucha knew what the motion meant. The cats were uncomfortable. Kuririn was making them nervous.

"He almost sounds jealous." Hissed the calico, speaking in cat just to be safe and flicking an ear in Kuririns direction.

Puar nodded. "I think he needs more friends."

The cat above spoke. "Perhaps we can arrange something. I know this nice family out east that's looking to adopt a pet human."

Yamucha feigned a yawn, covering his mouth with a hand for a moment. And he used that moment to whisper. "Guys, if I start laughing - he will probably kill me. Please. Have your talk somewhere else."

So the cats floated out of the room, purring to each other as they went. Last Yamucha heard, Puar was insisting that human warriors could be very good pets although you had to be extra careful around them. And the calico cat was saying to the other cat: "Oh no dear, _they_ couldn't adopt him. Didn't you hear? Turns out their kitten is allergic to humans."

Among people, it was a common joke that cats would one day take over the world. Among cats, it was a common joke that one day people would realize that cats had already taken the world, gotten bored with the place and left it to the dogs.

"Look. Kuririn. Listen for a minute, okay?" Yamucha used his this-is-the-last-time-I'm-going-to-say-this tone. "I don't know why Maron came to me. I don't know how she found me. All she did was show up, apologize and leave. That's it." Yamucha shrugged, absently brushing cat hairs off his shirt and trying to erase from his mind the mental image of Kuririn being adopted by a bunch of kittens. "She ignored the questions that I asked her. And when I told her that it would be better to talk to you, she acted like she hadn't heard me."

"And so you let her get away."

Yamucha sighed. "Believe it or not, I was kind of trying to rescue a stegosaurus from a collapsing building at the time."

The building had started to come down in larger pieces. So there hadn't been much visibility for a while. Yamucha had caught a glimpse of Maron leaving but he'd lost sight of her rather swiftly. And she had no energy so Yamucha hadn't been able to track her. Not even after escaping the building, stegosaurus in tow. He had tried to figure out where Maron could have gone but he hadn't seen her since. He'd searched a bit - though not for very long because there was too much else to do.

"How could you let her get away?" Kuririn muttered, having ignored Yamuchas last comment.

"I didn't know she was dangerous, all right? Nobody told me she was on the worlds most wanted list."

Maron looked a bit like Bulma. Maron had done something to upset Kuririn. Maron didn't have ki. That was all that Yamucha knew about Maron. He wasn't completely sure what the issues were. He didn't really want to know. As far as Yamucha was concerned, this seemed like something that Kuririn and Maron needed to work out with each other.

Eventually, Kuririn stopped pacing. Which meant that he had reached some kind of conclusion.

"Pack."

Yamucha arced an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. It's not safe here anymore, you've gotta leave."

"Kuririn - I hate to be the one to tell you this but in case you haven't noticed, it's not safe anywhere."

"True. But there's a guy out there who could be your twin, Yamucha. And that guy is a friend of Marons. And if they know where to find you ..."

This logic struck Yamucha as far-fetched. Not impossible. Highly unlikely perhaps but not impossible. Still. Yamucha found it hard to accept. He'd become so accustomed to fighting for bigger causes - trying to save the world and so forth - that he almost couldn't believe that anyone would bother coming after him specifically. "Isn't this called jumping to conclusions? Why would they ... ?"

"Don't know." Kuririn admitted. "But I don't like this. At least if you were back at the Kame House - "

"No." Yamucha interrupted. "Thanks. I'll stay here."

He had some good memories of the Kame House. He'd learned a lot there, training. That was the past though. Yamucha had moved on. He had a job to think of now. A social life. Fans. Neighbors. Puar. All that. He couldn't just pack up and go into hiding. It seemed wrong, for a warrior of his caliber. Irresponsible. Pointless, even. Why move to the Kame House? Maron knew where the Kame House was.

"Assuming you're right..." Yamucha reasoned, "If someone is after me then wouldn't my house be the best place to catch them? And if I left ... Maybe that's what they want. What would keep this twin that I've heard so much about from moving into my home and pretending to be me?" _Jeez, _Yamucha thought, _I'm starting to sound as paranoid as the rest of them. _He hurriedly finished his explanation. "And if - for whatever reasons - you're wrong... I'm not gonna let a bunch of rumors scare me into moving away from everything that I've worked for. Sorry but from where I'm standing, the evidence seems kind of flimsy."

"How much evidence do you need?" Kuririn fumed, "Are you waiting for them to attack you?"

"I may not be the world champion," Yamucha said calmly, "but I can take care of myself."

Silence.

Kuririn was not jealous. He didn't care about Maron anymore - at least, that's what he told himself. But it just didn't add up. If Maron had wanted to apologize to him then why hadn't she just come to him? Why had she given the message to Yamucha? What was Maron up to? He stared critically at his friend. And then Kuririn noticed something that he hadn't earlier. "Where did those come from?"

Yamucha glanced around, puzzled. "What?"

"Those!" Before Yamucha could get his bearings, Kuririn had pulled the taller warrior down to eye level. "This!"

"... That would be my arm, Kuririn." And Yamuchas tone implied that he would prefer to keep his arm, thank you very much.

"It's covered in little scratches!"

"Y-es." Yamucha pulled himself back to his feet, rubbing the arm in question and giving Kuririn a weary please-switch-to-decaf look. "If you'd been listening earlier, you'd know that I've been pulling frightened animals out of crumbling buildings for the last couple weeks. Scratches happen. They'll heal."

Being a chronic worrier, Kuririn immediately saw the flaw in this reasoning. "You don't remember getting them, do you?" He didn't wait for a reply, Yamuchas reaction had said it all. "If you don't remember when you got those then how do you know that they're healing? What if they aren't?!"

Yamucha realized where this was leading. And he didn't much care for it. "We're not going to a hospital." He began. He'd seen enough of hospitals lately. Because sometimes, when rescuing pets, he'd come across people as well. So he'd taken a lot of people to get medical care. Not all of them would survive.

Kuririn calmly cut him off. "Of course not! Too many risks. We'll go to Korins Tower."

"Have you had enough sleep lately Kuririn?" Yamucha inquired dryly, "Don'tcha think this might kinda be overeacting, hrm?"

"Hmf." Kuririn managed a grim smirk. "Better to overeact than to die. Are you coming or do I have to drag you there?"

Yamucha could see that his friend wasn't kidding. He sighed. "All right. We'll go. Just let me leave a note for Puar."

"It's for your own good." Kuririn remarked as he headed for the door.

"Yes, mother." Yamucha grumbled.

"What was that?" Kuririn called from the other room.

"I said 'be there in a minute'."

"You better have!"

**ooxoo**

**M**etallic footsteps echoed in an underground corridor.

"Here." Android 12 tossed a bundle of rolled papers onto a workbench in front of her. "Mission complete."

A group of Red Ribbon engineers hesitated in the midst of their card game to cast skeptical glances at the paperwork that Android 12 had just delivered. "What's this?"

"Blueprints." Android 12 unrolled a sheet. It was covered in faded sketches and scribbled notes that were hard to read. At the top of the page - in what appeared to be crayon - someone had written two words in large print.

Gravity Room.

"One of the few Capsule Corp inventions not intended for the mass market." Android 12 reported. "The interior of this device can, theoretically, withstand up to 400gs. That should be more than adequate."

By now, all of the engineers were interested. They had abandoned their card game in favor of unrolling the papers and sifting through the notes. Whispering comments. Nodding and pointing out features to each other. If the material really could withstand 400gs ... If Red Ribbon could build androids from that material ...

"This is good, 12." An engineer said. "Real good. Dr. Gero will be very pleased."

Android 12 ignored the comment, stepping away from the workbench. Walking towards the android case that was wedged between tool racks. "How long will it take to repair 11?"

She was a machine. A complex computer program. A stack of computer chips in a suit of armor held together by fragments of genetic material. Yet there was a lot going on in Android 12s mind that hadn't been put there by the people who'd built her.

Two weeks ago, a kid had attacked Android 11. Had caused his internal bomb to go off. Had destroyed him. Android 12 had escaped the brat, gathered the remains of her former partner and returned to Red Ribbons underground headquarters. At times - she had trouble believing it - but she actually missed 11. The emotion surprised her. She'd never really liked Android 11. He'd been annoying. But humans were more annoying. That's all there was to it. Android 11 had been the lesser irritation. A fellow android in a world full of people. Android 12 had come to think of 11 as family, sort of. If a robot could have family.

"Of course, we'd have to get a fresh sample of - " Began the engineer.

Android 12 withdrew a test tube from a compartment in her arm. She had expected that the repair of Android 11 would require a certain humans DNA. So she had taken the liberty of securing a sample.

"Oh?" The engineer blinked and pushed his glasses up his nose. "Is that - ?"

"Yes." Android 12 did not offer the test tube to the engineer. She would guard it until the contents were needed. It had been difficult enough, to make small talk with the human once. She couldn't do it again. That would just make the human suspicious - if he wasn't suspicious already.

"Oh. Ah. Well. That will speed things up a bit." The engineers encouraging smile withered to a nervous blank under Android 12s stare. The man cleared his throat. "But it will still take time. We have to get a sample of these materials," He indicated the gravity room blueprints, "do some tests, upgrade some other programs."

All the other creatures that had been in the room, Android 12 noticed, had found an excuse to leave.

"What is going on here?"

The engineer sighed, rubbing the back of his neck with a hand. "Remember that adult triclops that you and 11 captured a few weeks ago? The one we deliberately let escape?"

Android 12 narrowed her ocean blue eyes and waited, impatiently tapping a foot.

The engineer nodded towards the dimly lit back wall of the room, which was occupied by a row of consoles. All the computers were on. One screen held a map of Earth. Other screens were covered by graphs and charts and long lists of numbers. Without even studying the data, Android 12 could see that something was being measured. Something was being tracked.

"We've been watching 'em. Learned a lot these past couple weeks." said the engineer. "Techs have been real excited. They think they've got the formula for engineless flight. So you see, at the moment - "

"Dr. Gero wants you to build an android that can fly." Android 12 stated, anger welling up inside her. "So you can't spare anyone to repair Android 11."

The engineers shoulders slumped. "Correct. New projects take priority."

"I see." And she did. Android 12 had a moment of clarity. She saw Red Ribbon for what it was and she understood her place in it.

She had gotten the DNA. She had gotten the blueprints. She and 11 had captured the triclops who didn't know that he was teaching Red Ribbon engineers to build androids that could fly. And for all her work - what did she get in return? Nothing. If she was ever damaged, Red Ribbon wouldn't even repair her. They'd just shove her remains into an old android case and go to work on new projects. That's what they were doing to Android 11. That's what androids were worth in this organization. Less than nothing. Not even entitled to dignity.

Did an android need dignity?

Some of her internal computers issued warnings but 12 remained focused on the flow of her thoughts. The way that Android 11 was just being shoved aside, like a toy that someone had gotten bored of playing with... It was outrageous! But what could Android 12 do about it? She couldn't leave Red Ribbon, could she? That went against all her programming. She got system errors just thinking about it. And what good would leaving do? Nobody else on Earth knew how to repair androids.

Maybe they could learn though. Why not? If Red Ribbon scientists didn't want to repair Android 11 then maybe Capsule Corp scientists could. But that was too obvious, wasn't it? Red Ribbon had agents at Capsule Corporation. Red Ribbon would notice if Capsule Corp started repairing androids.

Hrm. Maybe one of the smaller tech companies on Earth could be of assistance.

She'd have to be sneaky about it. Couldn't risk being caught. Android 12 was still intact, she still had an internal bomb. Red Ribbon would blow her up if they learned of her plan. Going to another company, teaching the humans there the secrets of android building... Red Ribbon would view such behavior as treason.

Which is why Android 12 turned and made an excuse to leave the room. For now, she would go get cleaned up. She'd have to come back for Android 11 later. When no one was watching.

**ooxoo**

**S**omeone was watching her.

Ranshin cautiously sat up. She didn't see anyone. Not even ghosts. That was unusual. Especially since she felt someone - something - watching her.

What was this place? Why did it look familiar?

A forest. The ground was covered in dead leaves, wildflowers, ferns and young trees stretching their limbs towards the sun. For the most part, the area was shaded by a dense colorful canopy of tall trees that hid the sky from view but in a few places the light spilled though, coming down in bright shafts. Weather-worn boulders sat among the leaves like silent guardians. Insects hummed. Birds chirped. Rodents chattered. The soothing lullaby of running water could be heard.

Oh. _That's right... _Ranshin had been here before. In the summer. When she'd run away from Sensei Jitsugen for four months. She hadn't stayed long last time. Had only paused to rest a bit and admire the scenary. It was a beautiful place but Ranshin hadn't been looking for natural beauty back then. She'd been looking for the other genetic childern. And she'd doubted that they were out here.

Ranshin wasn't sure how she'd returned to the place. She'd been in and out of trances lately. Couldn't remember much in the way of recent events.

There was something weird about this area. Though it was a relief to be alone, to be away from ghosts and people and scenes of destruction ... Ranshin couldn't place it. Something just felt off. Not evil. Not threatening. Just ... Strange.

Ranshin stood. Stretched. Took a careless step forward. Tripped. Fell flat on her face.

Which, as it so happened, allowed her to notice what she had tripped on. A short stone pillar covered in damp foul-smelling moss. Ranshin grimaced and rolled back to her feet before examining the pillar further. The size and shape was unmistakable. A thin rectangular stone pillar with one flat end and one pointed end. This was a traditional road sign. Either that or a traditional grave marker. The pillar was supposed to be standing up. But it was so old - it had probably fallen over years ago.

Ranshin doubted that there was any reason to put the sign back up. It was covered in moss. The words under the moss might be faded and even if they weren't, they might be written in an ancient language that nobody understood anymore. She tenatively poked at the pillar with a foot.

The sign tumbled over. The side that had been pressed into the ground for all these years had no moss on it. However there was writing. And Ranshin knew the language.

Ranshin squinted. Eventually she bent down and ran her fingers over the symbols carved in the stone, as if that would help her read the words that she didn't recognize. Being age four, she could read a lot of words - but not all of them. There were still words that she didn't recognize. Words that she didn't understand.

For a moment, Ranshin pouted. The sign wasn't going to do her any good. She didn't know what it said. Couldn't even guess which direction it had once pointed in.

A sound startled her. Turned out to be nothing more than a squirrel bolting through the treetops. But Ranshins split-second reaction had been instinctive, a faint ki shield surrounded her. And as she squatted there beside the pillar, one glowing hand resting on the symbols ...

The breeze seemed to chuckle. _Master Mutaito_, said a tiny voice in Ranshins mind.

Ranshin flinched. Then she noticed her hand and the way the symbols seemed to reflect her aura when touched with energy. Curious, Ranshin placed her palm flat over the next set of symbols. The tiny voice came again. Right on cue. This time it said: _Shugendo._

Lumps of moss fell away from the pillar to reveal the artwork carved into the stone. The same motif decorated each side. A stylized tortise with a crane perched on its back, wings spread.

**ooxoo**


	15. Illuminate: October 23rd, 763 AD

_**Eclipse**_

**by DoraMouse**

**ooxoo**

**Illuminate: October 23rd, 763 A.D.**

**W**hen a story is old, it multiplies. What was once a single story becomes a group of stories. Sequels and prequels and all the different versions told by all the different storytellers. In a way, this is a shame. Because the different versions of the same story will rarely agree on anything. And the meanings of the original story will gradually be lost.

This was what had happened.

All creatures are a little proud. Humans especially. So humans tend to exaggerate things.

For example a mother might say that her child is a perfect angel, best in the world. The mother does not know this for a fact but she will say it anyway, to show her love and her hope. To encourage her child to do the best they can. The human world is full of these kinds of exaggerations. Commercials saying their product is number one - hoping that customers will believe them, hoping that maybe if they say it enough then it will come true.

And so it is no real surprise that nearly every martial arts school that ever existed on Earth had claimed to be legendary.

To study the history... It is a bit like going grocery shopping. If you see a label on a package that says 'low sugar' or 'high fiber' or whatever - then you can't just believe it right away. You have to pause and think: _compared to what?_ High fiber compared to what? Low sugar compared to what?

Legendary compared to what?

On Earth, there were only a handful of martial arts schools that were truly legendary. Only a handful of senseis that had earned the right to claim such a title.

Kami was legendary. Korin was legendary. Neither of the gods taught martial arts to mortal students more than few times per century but they were both still widely respected in the martial arts community. In fact, Korin was still called by his formal title: Neko-sennin, the Cat Master. Occasionally he was even worshipped as the patron god of martial arts.

Few humans could compete with the immortals. Nevertheless, there were always some. And these were the better known martial artists of Earth. The ones featured in so many stories and paintings. The human legends. The human sensei. There had been five, to begin with. Then nine. At the height of martial arts - back when weapons had been banned and everyone was practicing self-defense - conservative historic estimates had put the number closer to eighty. Each one specializing in a different technique. Of course, that was the past. Technology had changed things. Soldiers didn't learn how to fight anymore, they just learned how to do paperwork and press buttons. Martial arts had been more or less forgotten in the modern world. Reduced to little more than a hobby. The old masters had gradually died off - some from age, some from sickness or war or natural disaster - many taking secrets with them to the grave.

Last year, only four truly legendary martial arts schools had remained on Earth. And of those, the Kame School - turtle style - was the only dojo prospering. And now Tsuru-sennin, the Crane Master, was dead. So Earth had only three schools left.

Three schools left. Plus one more that refused to leave.

Kame for turtle. Tsuru for crane. Turtle for endurance and strength. Crane for agility and speed. Turtle for water. Crane for wind. Wind and water.

They had not always been separate schools. Over three hundred years ago, there had not been a Kame House or a Tsuru Dojo. Master Roshi and the Crane Master had both been students back then. They had shared a sensei, even. A truly legendary sensei. Master Mutaito. And the emblem of his school had been a simple design: a stylized tortise with a crane perched on its back, wings spread.

**ooxoo**

**R**anshin stood in a temple. It was not very large, not very clean. Had not been visited in a long time. Ranshin was amazed that she had found it at all. A single room, made of stone and full of cracks where plants were growing through. Dark and damp and dusty. No roads or trails had lead to it. No signs had pointed the way.

Yet here she was, half by accident. Standing in the single room. Looking at the inscription on a plague.

Nothing fancy, this inscription. The metal was rusting and the writing was gone in places. Some of it was covered by moss or vines or ancient wax drippings. Some of it was too badly cracked or rusted to read. Some of it was just plain too hard to read, Ranshin didn't recognize the words. But when Ranshin powered up a bit and placed her hand over the writing, the little voice came back into her mind. And this is what the voice said:

_This is a shrine to honor Master Mutaito, a legendary shugendo master and a personal friend to the gods of Earth. He invented many energy techniques but is most famous for Mafuba, the Evil Seal attack. In the year 461 A.D. Master Mutaito died while saving the world from a terrible demon. He left behind a wife and family, as well as many students whose education went incomplete._

The information took a moment to sink in. Ranshin spent a while absorbing it.

She didn't like the story. Didn't like the idea that someone had needed to save the world so long ago. How many times had the Earth been endangered anyway? Was this a normal occurance? And what about Master Mutaitos family? What about his students? What had happened to all of them? Why hadn't any of them come out here, to visit the shrine? Why hadn't any of them kept the place clean and in good repair? Didn't they respect their ancestor, their sensei? He had saved the world - how could they not respect that?

Gradually, though, as her eyes wandered the room and took in the details...

Crane and turtle. Crane and turtle. Ranshin knew she had seen these emblems before. Not together but separate. Her former sensei, the Crane Master. His greatest rival, the Turtle Master. Could this mean? Were they the ones? Had they been the students of Master Mutaito? Was she standing in the shrine of her senseis sensei?

That couldn't be right. That would mean that the Crane Master had been over three hundred years old. People didn't live that long. Did they?

Right then, the last part of what the voice had said replayed in Ranshins mind: _... as well as many students whose education went incomplete. _Ranshin could relate. This was what had happened to her as well. She had only learned a few energy attacks. The Crane Master had died before he could teach her more. So her education was incomplete. But ... If the Crane Masters education had also been incomplete ... If the Turtle Masters education was incomplete ... What did that mean for their students?

Hrm. The strongest warriors on Earth. Many of them belonged to the Kame style. Did they know their education was incomplete? Did they know that Master Mutaito had died before he could teach all his tricks to Tsuru-sennin and Kame-sennin?

Maybe they didn't.

Maybe Ranshin was the only one who knew.

A slow smile crept across her face. Ranshin felt that she had found a purpose again. Maybe even a way to control her energy, avoid the uninvited trances. She would study hard and train harder. It wasn't going to be easy, of course, but she would make sure that her education was complete. She would find a way to learn Master Mutaitos secrets.

Ranshin had always been vaguely aware of ghosts. Moreso, ever since the Crane Master had died and stopped blocking her inherent skills. But there were no ghosts here. Ranshin didn't know how to summon spirits and wasn't even sure that she wanted to try such a thing. So she didn't give these options much thought. Didn't take them seriously. Instead she left the shrine, hovering. With a plan taking shape in her mind.

Something was watching her. Still watching her. Ranshin knew. But she didn't pay much attention to the presence anymore. It had been following her around for three days already. If it had wanted to hurt her or talk to her then it could have by now. But it hadn't. So Ranshin chose to ignore it. Flying on, working out the details of her plan. Never noticing the creature that followed her.

It wasn't a ghost. But it moved just as quietly as a ghost might.

**ooxoo**

_**Y**__ou look too much like your father._ Chaozu didn't have to say it. His reaction to Piccolos arrival had made the thought clear.

Piccolo dodged the attack with ease. He was accustomed to this. It seemed like no matter where he went, who he dealt with... He was doomed to always be reminded of the past.

Eleven years ago, Piccolos father had tried to conquer Earth. Piccolo hadn't been alive back then. Well... Not until AFTER the battles. He'd been born right after his fathers defeat. However Piccolo had mostly learned about what his father had done because those actions still affected his life. Kuririn had been killed. Master Roshi had been killed. Shenlong and Chaozu had been killed. Lots of people in Central Capital City had been killed. Everyone had been wished back later - but they hadn't forgotten.

For the most part, the warriors of Earth were polite to Piccolo. Rarely mentioning the past. But Piccolo could see that they were still wary of him. Still distrustful. Maybe even still hurt. Because he looked too much like his father, the one who had caused so much destruction. This was one of the main reasons Piccolo chose to spend the majority of his time living in isolation. No reminders of the past. No one to compare him to his deceased father.

"What are you doing here?" Chaozu finally said. Not exactly a warm welcome.

"Wasn't my choice." Piccolo shrugged. "Kami suggested that I visit."

This was Piccolos way of saying that his uncle had blackmailed him. He didn't add that Kami seemed to think that two of the most dangerous human warriors on the planet might need some help. That would be like asking for chores and Piccolo didn't want to get stuck with errands to run. He hoped to keep this forced visit short.

"Ah." Chaozu understood. He could read minds after all. But more than that, he understood Kamis reasoning as well. "Right." _Not a bad idea, _Chaozu admitted. "I suppose we could use the extra security."

Piccolo studied the landscape for a moment. Not sensing any threats, he turned and arced an eyeridge. "For what?"

"Guess we'll have to wait and see." Chaozu drifted back indoors then hesitated. "Do you actually sleep? You could stay on the couch."

Before Piccolo could start to protest this arrangement, Chaozu was hovering beside a kitchen counter. He lifted a sheet of paper, unfolded it carefully and changed the subject. "Hospital has been so busy lately. Took extra long to get the results back."

"What results?"

"Ten-sans blood tests. From after we found him." Chaozu sighed, studied the paper and then refolded it. "Lethal chemicals but not in lethal amounts. He'll probably be sick until it's all out of his system."

A tall shadow slipped through the room, grumbling. "Just talk about me like I'm not even here." The shadow hesitated, squinted in Piccolos direction. "Since when do YOU visit?"

"Kami blackmailed him." Chaozu said calmly, which startled Piccolo worse than having been snuck up on. "And you're supposed to be resting, Ten-san."

Tenshinhan moved into the pantry and rummaged for something. "Not if they're using those chemicals to track me." He bit off the words angrily, obviously less than thrilled by the prospect. "I will not let them catch me off guard again."

Now Piccolo was geniunely concerned. "Who - ?"

"Red Ribbon Army, we think." Chaozu explained. "You wouldn't remember them. That was before your time."

Piccolo hated to be reminded of this. Even if he was only eleven years old by the Earth calendar, he didn't intend to let anyone treat him like a kid. "Red Ribbon? I've heard of them. Aren't they the ones that work with the World Government now?"

"They're the ones that Goku had the chance to destroy thirteen years ago." Tenshinhan left the pantry with a box of tissues, closing the door behind him in way that showed anger without making much noise. Slamming doors was not professional. He hadn't been aquainted with Goku thirteen years ago but he'd heard the story. He knew what had happened. "But you know how Goku is. Never finishes a job." Too frustrated to say more, Tenshinhan left the room.

Silence.

Eventually Chaozu spoke in a quiet voice. "Goku's not a bad person. He just hasn't always made good choices. That's all."

More silence. In this house, it went without saying that if Tenshinhan had been the one to destroy the Red Ribbon Army thirteen years ago... But thirteen years ago, Tenshinhan hadn't had any real interest in protecting the worlds population. He hadn't met Goku and he hadn't known about the dragonballs - those events had happened eleven years ago. The Red Ribbon Army had mainly ended up in conflict with Goku because of the artifacts and so Gokus intentions back then... Goku hadn't wanted to kill everyone. He'd just wanted to reclaim the dragonballs. Goku had done an impressive amount of damage to the Red Ribbon Headquarters and had succeeded in his goals. But there had been survivors. If, somehow, it could have been Tenshinhan in his place all those years ago... Tenshinhan would have killed everyone. That's just what professional assassins did. It didn't make a whole lot of sense, to the residents of this house, that Goku was always willing to risk his own life to fight - but not kill - his enemies. Much as they respected the Earths Champion... Goku hadn't seem very skilled, in their opinions, at planning ahead.

The fact that Goku was apparently lost in space for the time being only supported this notion.

"Hrm. Snowing again." Chaozu observed. He flicked a hand towards the back door, which swung closed and locked. "No point in heating the whole mountain."

Piccolo scowled out the window. He wasn't used to being indoors but he was rapidly becoming resigned to the situation. He wondered how much influence Kami had over the weather. "My luck, we'll be snowed in."

"In that case," Chaozu smirked in a way that made it hard to tell whether he was kidding, "I hope that you're good at card games."

**ooxoo**

**"C**alm down..." Ranshin was beginning to think that it was stupid to make plans. Why bother? The world was full of surprises. Things could change in an instant. Things you never expected to happen - they could happen. She definitely hadn't expected this. She concealed her surprise very well though, folding her arms and keeping her voice neutral. "What are you doing out here?"

"I-I had to leave." Android Nine stammered, as surprised by the reunion as Ranshin was. "You wouldn't believe the things they're doing now. They've gone insane!"

Strange, to see an android like this. Frightened. Ranshin hadn't realized that androids could be frightened. Plus Nine looked even more human than usual because there was so much dirt and dust on him that his metallic skin didn't shine anymore. And perhaps it was just because his clothes were tattered but he wasn't wearing the Red Ribbon logo.

Ranshin had not been looking for androids. Hadn't been looking for anyone. Hadn't expected to see more than wild animals and maybe a few ghosts out here. Still, she wasn't unhappy to see Nine. Surprised - yes. Sure. A bit alarmed, maybe. But - "I believe you." Ranshin was tempted to ask what the Red Ribbon Army was doing now but decided to wait until Nine had calmed down first. "That doesn't explain what you're doing out here though. Why didn't you go to a town? Are you being chased?"

Nine frowned, regaining some of his composure and smoothing out his sleeves.

Before he could say anything, Ranshin jumped back a step. A person with two eyes might not have noticed - the cuts were very thin - but Android Nines clothes weren't the only things that were tattered.

"Did they - ?" Ranshin began, all three eyes wide. Horrified at the thought.

"No. I did that." Nine bowed his head and shuddered. "Had to take the tracking devices out."

He clenched his fists. Nine didn't have to say what was bothering him now. Didn't have to explain why he'd chosen to come to a remote part of the world. Ranshin could guess.

"It's the bomb, huh?"

Nine nodded. All androids had an internal bomb.

"I think I'm out of range." Nine confided after a while, still staring down at his feet. His hair obscuring his face. "They shouldn't be able to detonate it when I'm this far away. But if I try to remove it ..."

Ranshins attention was divided. Something had been watching her for the last three days. The presence, it was still there. Somewhere behind her. Ranshin didn't know who or what the presence belonged to. Hrm. Maybe it was someone who could help Nine? Ranshin wanted to ask, at least. Because she didn't know what else to do. Didn't trust herself to pull a bomb out of an android. What if the bomb went off? Worse, what if she pulled out the wrong part by accident?

"How did you get all the way out here?" Ranshin asked. She tried to focus on the presence, tried to pinpoint its location.

"I've been gone a while. Not as long as you but long enough, I hope." Android Nine was watching her now, his expression mildly confused. He didn't feel the presence so he didn't know why Ranshin was staring so intently in a certain direction. It made him nervous. Nine wasn't programmed to fight. He wasn't armed and he couldn't fly. What good would he be if they were attacked by a wild animal or something? The only thing he could do was run away or maybe explode - and he didn't particularly care to do either.

"Yea. It's been a while." Ranshin wasn't sure why but she felt like it was important to keep talking. Maybe the presence would come closer, try to overhear things. That might make it easier to catch.

"It's been seven months and one day." Android Nine retorted.

He could have taken it further, if he'd wanted. He could have told Ranshin how long she'd been gone in hours, minutes and seconds. And it wasn't because he'd missed her tons or anything - he had missed Ranshin a little, same as he'd missed all the other genetics - but the precise countdown was because his brain was mostly computer chips. Android Nine had a near-perfect memory.

Ranshin took a few quick steps foward, looking ready to pounce. She was speaking in a whisper now. "So Red Ribbon went crazy without me, huh?"

"Not just you." Nine corrected, moving a few paces back. Not wanting to be in the way. Dropping his voice to whisper for a different reason, his memories of Red Ribbon were not the sort of things he cared to brag about loudly. "There's been a lot of bad news for Red Ribbon lately."

Android Nine had been made to run errands at Red Ribbon Headquarters. Answer phones, deliver paperwork, clean up messes - all that sort of thing. It hadn't been a bad life. Always something to do. People had been the main challenge, so forgetful and disorganized. It was hard enough for an android to work around humans when the humans were in good moods. Bad moods made simple tasks impossible.

Why stay at work if he couldn't get anything done?

That was part of why Android Nine had left Red Ribbon. Two weeks worth of bad news - missing people, missing androids, failed experiments, something about a lawsuit, lots of pressure from the media and World Government to finish an android that might be able to defend Earth - had made everyone at Red Ribbon bad tempered. There was no reasoning with humans like that.

Even less chance of reasoning with humans like Doctor Gero. Android Nine was convinced that this time, the old man had gone completely and irreversibly insane. Which was the other main reason that Nine had left.

Maybe Red Ribbon wouldn't even notice that he was gone, with all the other stuff that was happening. Maybe he didn't need to worry about -

Android Nine snapped out of his thoughts and started to panic. It wasn't something that he'd been programmed for but then, he hadn't been programmed to leave Red Ribbon. Nine was rather good at adapting. If given a reason to panic then he could.

He had a reason.

He couldn't see Ranshin anywhere. Nine tried all his vision settings, the pupils of his ice blue eyes changing size as he went through his options. Regular vision. Night vision. Greyscale. Ultra violet. Ultra red. Zoom in, zoom out. Android Nine could look at the world in nearly twenty different ways, yet he couldn't detect ki.

And he didn't think to look up, either.

"Got away." Ranshin remarked as she landed beside him, dusting her palms off on each other. She was a bit more scruffy now.

"What got away?!" Nine demanded.

"Not sure." Ranshin shrugged, picking some twigs out of her hair. "Didn't catch it."

Exasperated, Android Nine heaved a sigh and walked off. "_Humans_."

Ranshin hesitated. Did she want to follow someone that might explode? Did she really care to hear about whatever Red Ribbon was up to now? The answer to both questions was no. Then - a flicker of movement in the trees to her left. A glimpse of white fuzz showing between dense leaves. The presence was back again. And now it was following Android Nine. Nine didn't notice but Ranshin did. So she followed Nine as well, hovering a safe distance back and watching the branches above them. Trying to guess what the creature was.

**ooxoo**

**T**he child had good speed, Korin noticed. She wouldn't be able to catch him but she'd tried - that took above average skill. The white cat grinned. Korin didn't often leave his tower but once in a while, it was fun to see what kind of influence he could have on mortals. It was amazing how simple the work was. Chasing them and being chased... As long as you could get people to go where you wanted... To show up in the right place at the right time... Really, it didn't take much to arrange a few coincidences along the way.

Korin was capable of speaking. He was capable of all kinds of things. He'd been a resident of the Earth for more than eight hundred years. He'd been an immortal for even longer. He could have announced himself with thunder and lightening. But Korin felt that it was better, to take the subtle approach. To sort of govern from a distance. People always reacted better, when they thought the ideas were their own.

**ooxoo**


	16. Awaken: October 25th, 763 AD

_**Eclipse**_

**by DoraMouse**

**ooxoo**

**Awaken: October 25th, 763 A.D.**

**A**ndroids did not need to sleep.

But Android Nine was beginning to wish that he could. He didn't have to wait for Ranshin, he knew that. There was nothing keeping him here. He hadn't promised to stay put, hadn't offered to keep watch while Ranshin slept. There was no reason that he couldn't just walk off and -

Okay. So there were a few reasons.

Android Nine looked down. He'd never actually been in a tree before and wasn't sure how to get out of it. He was vaguely aware that it might be possible to climb down but the flimsy branches below didn't inspire confidence. What if those branches couldn't support his weight? What if the branches snapped? What if he fell to the ground? Would it hurt? Would the impact set off his internal bomb? And even if he managed to get out of the tree, then what?

Despite the fact that he had left Red Ribbon and had been traveling alone for a while, Android Nine did not feel comfortable in the world. Too many dangers. Too many risks. Too much new information and too many unknowns. All that plus no sense of purpose, no mission. At Red Ribbon Headquarters, Android Nine had always known what was expected of him. Out in this world - nothing.

Not an easy subject for an android to come to terms with. Because he was programmed to do something. To do nothing caused serious errors in his programming.

So Android Nine kept busy. He sat in the tree and counted the leaves. Then he counted the leaves in other trees nearby. Then he figured out the average number of leaves per tree. Then he did it again, all over, only this time taking into account the species of each tree. And the height of each tree. And the average distance between leaves. And the average size and shape of the leaves. And the ratio of branches to leaves. And the ratio of healthy leaves to dead leaves. And -

By the time Ranshin finally began to stir, Android Nine was in the middle of solving an extremely complex formula that would allow him to estimate the number of oxygen molecules that the tree produced in an hour.

Perfectionist that he was, Nine quickly finished the math then turned his attention upward. He started to make a sarcastic remark about humans being inefficient. He had planned to brag about all that he had learned while Ranshin slept.

He never had a chance.

It happened so quickly. Nine didn't even see the attack. He spent a stunned split-second looking up at the tree, wondering how he'd gotten to the ground so abruptly. He was both surprised and relieved to discover that he couldn't feel any pain. Nothing to feel it with, he supposed. And he hadn't exploded either. More good news. But why - ?

"What was that for?!" Nine scrambled to his feet, confused.

No reply. Just an eerie pale green light flickering in the treetop.

"Ranshin?"

A small shadowy figure hovered among the branches then dropped to the ground, twitching. For a moment all that Android Nine could do was stare. Then he approached with caution, grabbed a wrist and checked Ranshins pulse. Confirmed his suspicions.

She wasn't awake. How could she power up while asleep?

The punch caught him off guard. This time Nine landed on his feet. He'd heard of sleepwalking but this was ridiculous. Attacking while asleep? Hovering while asleep? How could anyone - ?

Ranshins power wasn't stable. It came and went in waves, as did the spasms. If he stayed away from her then maybe she wouldn't be able to hit him. Maybe he ought to leave. There wasn't any reason to -

Eh. Who was he kidding? Android Nine had grown up around the genetic children. He'd helped to raise them. He considered the genetics to be peers. Friends. Almost equals. At any rate, Nine felt sort of responsible for Ranshin because she was a genetic creation. And, well, he was also curious. He wanted to know what was causing this strange behavior. He wanted to know if he could solve the problem. Maybe it was a programming error of some sort.

Nine was not a warrior. But he did exactly what he'd always seen humans do to machines that were malfunctioning. He smacked Ranshin on the back of the head and listened for broken parts.

With a yelp, Ranshin turned around and threw him into a tree.

Then she stood there, slightly dazed but now fully awake. Blinking and wondering why she was on the ground. She didn't remember coming down. What she did remember - had it just been a dream? How strange.

"Uhm. Help?" Android Nine whimpered.

Ranshin noticed the sneakers sticking out of a nearby tree at an awkward angle. "Nine! How did you get there?! Did you fall?"

The tree branch creaked, sounding as if it might break. "Could you get me down first?" Nine pleaded.

So Ranshin hovered and lifted Nine out of the tree. Nine was clearly expecting - hoping - to be put back on the ground. But Ranshin kept hovering. Nine closed his eyes, counted the nanoseconds and resolved that he would count to a hundred before demanding some answers.

He only got to twenty. Then they were off. Flying so fast that the details of the world blurred away, leaving nothing but the darkness of night around them.

"Got an idea." Ranshin said as they tore through the sky.

**ooxoo**

**A**ndroids did not need to sleep.

Sometimes it made Android 12 pause. The battered organic bits of her brain would hesitate. Who was superior, she would wonder, who was better off? How could androids be superior when humans were the ones that had built the androids in the first place? Such a paradox. And yet humans were so flawed. There were so many things that humans had to do that androids just didn't need to. Eating and drinking and sleeping and having dreams and feelings. Being able to age. Being able to forget.

The list was a long one. But occasionally Android 12 wondered if the flaws were really so bad. Maybe growing old wasn't so awful. Maybe being human wouldn't be so terrible. Maybe -

But then Android 12 would remind herself that she would never know. She couldn't age, she wasn't human. She was just an android.

Which had worked to her advantage. Leaving Red Ribbon had been much easier than she'd expected. All she'd had to do was wait for a while. Most of the Red Ribbon members were human, the engineers and scientists required sleep.

In the past, the human members of Red Ribbon had worked in shifts so that someone would always be awake and working. But with so much attention devoted to the construction of new androids, Red Ribbon members couldn't work in staggered shifts as much anymore. They had to work together. Which meant that the vast majority of them were now awake at the same times. And, more often than not, also asleep at the same times.

Her patience had paid off.

Android 12 had waited until the humans were asleep. The underground labs had been guarded but mostly empty. Android 12 had simply walked in, gotten what she wanted and left. Guards had seen her. Security cameras had seen her. But they hadn't seen her intentions, so no alarms had been set off. No questions had been asked. Android 12 had been created by Red Ribbon. Other members saw her as a servant of the organization. A servant programmed to be loyal. No one had suspected anything. No one could have guessed that she was leaving.

Leaving had been the easy part.

Android 12 was out in the human world now. A young lady with blue hair, blue eyes and a capsule in her pocket that contained the remains of Android 11.

She wanted to get 11 repaired. She had gone to the smaller technology companies. She had asked for their help. Well. No. Android 12 wasn't very good at asking for help. She didn't have a lot of practice at that. Maybe it was pride but - could androids have pride? Anyway. She had treated the humans like robots. Which meant that Android 12 had marched up to the people at the technology companies and had given them instructions. No 'please' or 'thank you' or any other human embellishments. Machines didn't waste words when it came to giving orders.

All in all, Android 12 had come off as rude. Impatient. Especially if any of the humans asked her to repeat the instructions. And then -

Oh, it had been so degrading. Every single technology company that she'd gone to... None of them would help her. Most had refused to take her seriously - they'd laughed at her. Openly. Even as she'd stomped out. Others had quickly become hostile. Had told her to leave. Had refused to even listen to her. And it was all because she just happened to look like...

Bulma Briefs.

Android 12 had grown to despise that name and all that it represented.

Red Ribbon had designed Android 12 to look like Bulma Briefs. It had been useful, for spying on Capsule Corporation. It had even been useful for getting close to the warriors who defended Earth. But now, the smaller technology companies refused to help Android 12. Because they assumed that she was Bulma Briefs. They assumed that she had Capsule Corp under her thumb. And she didn't. And she couldn't go to Capsule Corp for help either. Red Ribbon had agents there, Red Ribbon would notice.

After some consideration, Android 12 had reached the conclusion that maybe she could repair Android 11 on her own. If humans could build an android then why couldn't an android do the same? She had the patience. She could learn the process. All she needed now were a few pieces of equipment and some special tools.

Not a problem.

Android 12 stood in what the humans called a store. The kind of place that was badly lit, open all night and full of a wide assortment of items that humans apparently thought of as essential. There was a section for food and a section for clothes and a section for tools. And the salespeople were practically falling over themselves to help add items to her cart. Because they thought she was Bulma Briefs.

Usually Android 12 would have been irritated by the amount of attention she was recieving. Yet there was something about shopping and knowing that someone else would get the bill that put Android 12 in a good mood. She not only tolerated the salespeople, she encouraged them.

It was, in part, revenge against Bulma Briefs. Android 12 had never liked being compared to the lady. She didn't see the resemblance. As far as 12 was concerned, she was younger than Bulma. And healthier. And smarter. With longer hair and better fashion sense. And it was, in part, a sort of farewell shopping spree. Because in among Android 12s many other purchases were a pair of color contact lenses and a bottle of hair dye. So that no one would ever mistake Android 12 for Bulma Briefs again.

**ooxoo**

**N**ameks, like androids, didn't need to sleep. There was something about being elfin and having ancestors who originally came from a planet with three suns and no night that made sleep optional.

By the Earth calendar, Piccolo was eleven years old. Out of those eleven years, he'd spent around a month being dead. And he'd had a few moments of unconsciousness along the way. But for the most part, he'd been awake.

He was awake now. As usual. Although he was so completely bored that the idea of sleep was starting to appeal to him. Meditation was okay, it provided a way to relax and recover, but meditation didn't dull Piccolos awareness of time. Sleep - the way Piccolo understood it, sleep was about the same as fainting. Except that fainting only lasted for a few minutes while sleep could last for hours. In fact, humans probably spent more than half of their lives asleep.

The problem with being a Namek on planet Earth was that it got too quiet at night.

Like all Nameks, Piccolo had sensitive hearing. During the day this was an annoyance because during the day everything was noisy. Yet during the night it was even more of an annoyance because there wasn't as much to hear. Sounds got distorted. During the day an explosion might sound quiet just because there were so many other sounds competing to be heard. During the night, even the tiniest sounds were magnified because there was nothing else to grab the attention.

It wasn't so bad, outside. There was always a blanket of sound outside, even at night. Rivers and waterfalls. Insects and animals. Wind and weather.

However Piccolo was currently indoors. And the clock on the wall was torture to his ears. He was tempted to scream just so that he wouldn't have to hear another mechanical tick. He was more than tempted to blast the clock to oblivion. He was, in fact, in the process of taking the clock apart.

Well. He was trying to take the clock apart, anyway.

Being the type of creature that had spent most of his life outside and alone, without any modern conveniences, Piccolo was not familiar with wall clocks. 'Battery' was a term that, in his mind, meant that someone had been beaten up. This was why the clock was still ticking. Piccolo did not realize that the clock was battery operated. Piccolo didn't have many possessions and he certainly didn't own anything that used batteries. So instead of just removing the batteries from the clock, he was fiddling with the alarm settings. Without understanding any of it.

There was really only one piece of human technology that Piccolo did understand. It was called a mute button and it came on the remote control for a television. Piccolo approved of the mute button. In fact, he privately wished that humans would put mute buttons on everything. If he ever got ahold of all seven of the dragonballs...

Piccolo spent an idle moment wondering if the eternal dragon Shenlong had the power to grant a wish for mute buttons on everything.

A sudden zapping noise from outside caused Piccolo to cringe - it was so loud. The room was momentarily tinted blue. The light faded and the noise faded but before Piccolo could make sense of what had happened, it happened again.

There was ki out there. Lots of ki. Not massive amounts but too much for it to belong to a wild animal. And there were other sounds. Shuffling and crunching and muffled voices. All the noises that people make when they're out in deep snow.

And then the clock went off in Piccolos hands, the alarm blaring away. Startled, he dropped it. With a curse and a quick ki blast, the clock was gone. But it was too late. He'd lost the advantage of surprise and he knew it. Whatever was outside - people, Piccolo thought, and nobody that he recognized the energy signature of - they must have heard the noise.

Maybe the people outside hadn't expected anyone to be home. Maybe they would leave without a fight.

It was quieter out there now but the ki signatures were not going away. Piccolo crept to the nearest window and cautiously peered outside, trying to see what the people were doing. For once in his life, he wished that humans would make more noise.

Then the window shattered.

**ooxoo**

**T**he mountains were a natural ki block. Yamucha in West Capital City, Kuririn and Master Roshi at Kame Island, Gohan at his home out in the wildernes - none of them were awake. But even if they had been awake, none of them would have been able to detect Piccolos ki. Because Piccolo was in the mountains and the mountains were a natural ki block.

At the moment, only a few warriors on Earth could detect Piccolos energy. Three of them were at Kamis Lookout. Two of them were at home, in the mountains.

**ooxoo**

**S**ome people like to be taken care of when they're not feeling well. Other people would rather be left alone. Tenshinhan was the type of person that set bear traps in front of the door to his room. With a skull hanging from the doorknob. Just to make sure that everyone got the message.

He didn't welcome the disturbance that had woken him up.

Earlier. He'd been woken up earlier. It was a seventh sense, almost. Something that only veteran assassins - the ones that lasted more than a year in the trade - picked up. Tenshinhan honestly wasn't psychic. But he came close, sometimes. As both a warrior and an assassin, being alert was just second nature. An old habit.

These days on Earth, when people wanted to express just how impossible an idea sounded they would say: 'the lottery has better odds.' Not so long ago, before the lottery had existed, the phrase had been: 'it would be easier to sneak up on an assassin.' Because it just wasn't done. Professional assassins were the undisputed masters of sneaking.

Not even illness could prevent Tenshinhan from noticing that his home was under attack. He'd heard the vehicles pulling up and had listened to the people getting into position. He'd heard the zapping noises which indicated that the electric force field around the cabin was once again at work. Then an alarm clock had gone off in the living room for some reason. And now it sounded as though a window had shattered.

Tenshinhan wasn't really surprised. There was some part of him that almost constantly expected to be attacked. So actually being under attack wasn't a shock.

Still. Tenshinhan had only counted a dozen unfamiliar ki signatures. And none of them were hideously powerful. He contemplated the idea of staying put and pretending to sleep through the whole thing. Chaozu and Piccolo could probably handle the invasion. As long as -

Reluctantly, Tenshinhan got up. He had only counted twelve ki signatures. But what if there were creatures without ki?

When a person is constantly expecting to be attacked, certain precautions are taken. Tenshinhan was fairly well prepared for the circumstances. He was already dressed in a plain black fighting gi like the ones that he'd always worn for night jobs. It didn't take a moment to pull on some boots, grab a few choice weapons and wait.

Ki attacks were okay when you were fighting an opponent that wasn't standing right in front of you. For battles that were close up - and especially when you were trying to throw someone out of a building without completely destroying the building in the process - there were other options. Tenshinhan had studied basic martial arts - the kicks, punches, throws, blocks and choke holds. He had never relied on weapons but he liked to have a few weapons with him anyway. Just in case. He hardly ever got a chance to fight with weapons anymore. Tenshinhan felt that he was starting to forget the weapon techniques. It would be good to get some practice in.

The cabin was now full of noise. Panicked footsteps against the hardwood floor. Numerous snapping sounds followed by screams of pain.

From the sounds of things, Chaozu must have set some bear traps out as well. Tenshinhan grimaced. Traps were an effective method of defense, even moreso in the dark, but the cabin was going to be a mess to clean up in the morning.

No telepathic messages from Chaozu yet. That was a bit strange. Of course, Chaozu was probably busy attacking. It was difficult to tell sometimes. Chaozu could power down to zero when he wanted to. Made him harder to keep track of.

Piccolo, on the other hand...

...

Okay, that was a bad sign.

Tenshinhan hovered enough to get over the traps outside his door without setting them off. He flew down a short hallway and saw that the cabin was indeed a mess but most of the intruders were outside now. Retreating. Leaning against each other, limping away.

A series of blasts hit the ground directly behind the fleeing people. Dodonpa. Ten of them, staggered one right after the other so that each blast came closer to hitting the enemies. It obviously wasn't intended to be a fatal attack. Just a scare tactic, making the enemies rush to escape a bit more.

_Show off._ Tenshinhan thought. There was only one person he knew that could fire ten dodonpa at once.

_Oh, you're awake?_ Chaozu had the mental tone of someone who was laughing but it quickly slipped to something more serious. _Uhm ..._

_I know. _Tenshinhan scanned the wreckage of the cabins interior. Noticed that the kitchen was relatively unscathed. _I'm looking for him._

_Good._ A pale blur took off across the night sky. _Because I'm going to follow our visitors. Gather some evidence, maybe._

_Red Ribbon?_ Tenshinhan guessed, as he spotted a rather mangled shape under a pile of broken glass.

_Yea, it was._ Chaozus mental voice grew steadily more distant, the result of his moving further away. _And before you ask, I don't think we've got any senzu. But if you can get the bleeding to stop, he ought to be able to regenerate and heal._

A burst of light outside the cabin prevented Tenshinhan from replying. He was able to relax once the source had stepped into view.

Kami offered a weak smile as he entered the cabin. The smile was a tad forced because Kami shared Piccolos pain. "I was awake anyway." Kami spoke as if in the middle of a discussion instead of just starting one. "Nameks don't sleep much." The Guardian knelt beside his nephew. "Piccolo might sleep for a while though."

"He'll be all right." said Tenshinhan. It was one of those nice things that people said when they had no idea what else to say. "It was just a window - "

"And a tranquilizer gun." Kami gently pulled some needles out of his nephews arm. Not elephant sized tranquilizers but big enough to survive being shot through glass.

"Oh." Tenshinhan was startled. And not just because the dart had probably been intended for him. He didn't remember hearing any gunfire. Even a tranquilizer gun, it should have made some noise.

"Do you have any painkillers?" Kami inquired as he pulled cloth bandages from thin air and began to wrap them around his nephews injuries. It was obvious from the way Kami asked that he - not Piccolo - was the one who needed the medicine.

"You didn't bring any senzu?"

Kami shook his head. "Used them already."

Ah. Right. Garlic Juniors attack on Earth had been earlier in the month. So there wouldn't be any more senzu beans until November. Ouch.

"No painkillers, sorry." Tenshinhan distrusted most aspects of modern medicine. "And I don't think herbal teas are going to help when he's unconscious."

Kami shrugged. "Well, I could always go for a cup." Kami stood and leaned on his wooden staff. "But the kind we have at the Lookout is better."

It only took a heartbeat to cast the spell. Kami didn't leave any room for debate. He teleported, taking both of the warriors with him. One less thing to worry about, Kami decided as the burst of magic lit the surrounding landscape. Actually - two less things.

**ooxoo**


	17. Lit: October 26th, 763 AD

_**Eclipse**_

**by DoraMouse**

**ooxoo**

**Lit: October 26th, 763 A.D.**

**T**he first colors of morning were barely visible on the eastern horizon. A dark red line edged in violet and flecked with gold held the promise of a magnificent sunrise.

It was a sunrise that Chaozu would not be able to watch. The hover vehicles he'd been following were now entering a tunnel. There were no buildings on the surface of this land but already Chaozu could detect the signs of life - energy signatures and brainwaves - that were underground. So without even entering the tunnel, Chaozu knew that this was the new Red Ribbon Headquarters.

People were not Chaozus main concern. What made Chaozu hesitate was the idea of what else he might find here. Despite attempts to foresee the future clearly, all he'd gotten was a sense of dread. Whatever was in there would not be a pleasant sight.

He braced himself then darted into the tunnel.

Chaozu quickly saw the pattern in the arrangement of the security cameras - all of them were aimed down, monitoring the floors. So by staying close to the ceiling, he evaded the cameras notice. He flew through the mostly empty corridors too quickly to be noticed, pausing now and then to take a picture. The Red Ribbon members below would hear a soft click then be enveloped in flash of light that made them blink in confusion and glance up. Most didn't react fast enough and were left staring at the ceiling before shaking their heads and muttering about the need for coffee. Others managed to catch a glimpse of a small pale blur near the ceiling as it left the area. But then a gentle telepathic nudge to their brainwaves would make them forget about it.

Using the minds of the Red Ribbon members as a reference, Chaozu had no trouble navigating the underground maze. He learned the names of the people below, got a feel for what each persons work included and got an idea of what each room was for. All very interesting but unfortunately, mind-reading was not the sort of evidence that could be used in a court of law. So Chaozu put the camera to use. He was tempted, now and then, to take more than just pictures. But -

One thing an Emperor learns quickly is the power of association.

Taking a box full of Red Ribbon documents to the police could backfire. A person might end up being arrested for stealing the documents or worse, could even be accused of faking the documents. Getting Red Ribbon in trouble required that the evidence be left alone. Because if the evidence was found with the criminals then the case against Red Ribbon would be a lot easier to prove in court.

At least the pictures should be enough to provoke further investigation. Get a few World Government secret agents sent out here, if there weren't some here already.

Chaozu flew down a flight of stairs into the second sub-level. The small labs on the level nearest the surface hadn't contained anything too extraordinary. Based off the minds he'd read, Chaozu expected the labs down here to be larger and more active.

At first glance the second sub-level proved to be much like the level above - a concrete maze with brightly lit and mostly empty corridors stretching off in several directions. The air was colder down here and there was a visible increase in the number of cleaning robots. Chaozu spent an absent minute watching an automop work its way past the staircase. That certainly brought back memories. He hadn't seen a functioning automop since his days at the Imperial Palace. But this was probably not the best time to dwell on such things.

He flew off. Down one hallway, turn right, fly a bit. Pass through a closet filled with buckets of mechanical parts and other random odds and ends - scattered tools, gloves, a few stacks of books and papers, a forgotten can of soda. Take a few pictures. Then exit into a different hallway and -

Chaozu stopped. There was a large metal door less than a foot from where he hovered. The door was edged with strips of insulation foam. Patches of ice covered the surface, steam escaped with a soft hiss and a small puddle was taking shape on the floor directly in front of the door.

An industrial freezer. An entire room used for cold storage. It had to be.

There was an electronic lock on the door.

Blowing up the electronic lock would probably set off some alarms. So Chaozu took the time to search the brains of the Red Ribbon members that were awake. He pulled a hand into his sleeve - glad that he'd dressed warm - and used that hand to type in the password. The fabric prevented him from leaving any fingerprints on the keypad. The first password that he tried didn't work. Chaozu frowned. This place must have more than one electronic lock. He glanced around, detected no one nearby and concentrated. He tried again, entering a different password but remained locked out. It wasn't until his fourth attempt that the lock gave a faint buzz. He turned the handle and the door eased open.

_Finally._ Chaozu drifted cautiously into the room. There didn't appear to be a way to unlock the door from the inside so he deliberately left the door open a crack. Turning his back on the door, Chaozu shuddered from the cold then focused on the frozen contents of the room. Wanting to be done with this place as soon as possible.

The industrial freezer was full of neatly arranged shelves of food. Cartons of milk and eggs. Boxed pizzas and pints of ice cream. Even Red Ribbon members did have to eat, Chaozu supposed.

Further back in the room, beside a hulking bag of dinoburgers, was an icy metal box. About the right size for an adult coffin. And beyond it were more frozen metal coffins. Chaozu gingerly pried open the first metal box that he'd noticed. Empty. _Hrm. _He spent a moment studying the other metal boxs. All of them were frozen but some had less ice on them. So maybe the ones that were more defrosted had been in use recently? Maybe -

An image flickered across Chaozus mind and made his stomach turn.

He reluctantly opened the android case anyway, determined to take a picture of what he now knew the contents would be.

It was an android in progress. A human corpse full of wires and exposed mechanical parts. In its current condition, not even the gender or age of the corpse - much less the cause of death - could be guessed at. However dirt was still embedded into the remains of the skin, evidence that at some point this corpse had been buried. And the number 13 was scrawled across the inside top of the android case in permenant marker.

Chaozu was glad to close the android case. He flexed his fingers, summoned enough of his aura to help keep warm and sighed, which created a small cloud of fog.

_Almost done._

The next android case that he opened had the number 15 scrawled across the inside and the corpse was so badly mangled that it was impossible to tell if it had ever been human. Chaozu hurriedly took the pictures, closed the case and moved on.

A mental alarm went off - there were some kis headed this way. Red Ribbon members. They might be coming for the android cases, they might be coming to get food or they might just walk past and pull the door closed, locking Chaozu inside. He couldn't afford to be caught here.

There were two android cases left that were more defrosted than the others. Heart pounding, Chaozu picked the one nearest to him and flung it open.

And very nearly screamed.

The number 14 was scrawled on the inside of this case but Chaozu hardly noticed. Because all he saw were the familiar but twisted remains of Cyborg Tao Pai Pai. Memories of the 23rd Tenkaichi Budoukai flooded back. Chaozu had long been trying to forget that day, he'd almost been killed. And by an opponent that he'd once considered an ally. The bitterness of that defeat still stung.

Footsteps echoed in the hallway. Not wanting to draw attention to his location, Chaozu left the android case open - too noisy to slam shut - took one picture and flew out of the room. He made his way back towards the staircase, flying too fast to be seen. He was done with gathering evidence for today. He could go home and take a break and -

That's what he was thinking when the lights went out. The corridors were abruptly bathed in darkness dense enough to prevent a person from seeing a hand held in front of their face. In the midst of the darkness, a streak of green energy flew across Chaozus line of vision. It was hard not to notice. And it wasn't the energy signature that alarmed him. It was the momentary dizziness, there was a certain sensation to it. Chaozu stared in the direction that the green streak had gone, curious. He didn't often get that particular dizziness sensation because ...

Because it meant that there was another dangerous psychic nearby.

**ooxoo**

**R**anshin landed and grimaced. Nine was clinging to her for dear life - arms wrapped around her shoulders, legs wrapped around her waist and head down, eyes closed. He disliked high speed flying almost as much as he hated the idea of being back inside Red Ribbon Headquarters.

"Nine," Ranshin snarled, fists clenched. It took all her self-control to resist throwing him into wall. Ranshin didn't like being clung to. She wouldn't have tolerated it if she hadn't needed Nines help.

Android Nine opened his eyes, glanced both ways, consulted a map programmed into his brain and mumbled a few directions before putting his head down again.

Despite the fact that Ranshin had been created by the Red Ribbon scientists and had spent most of her life growing up here, she would have been lost on her own. The genetic children had been confined to a tiny area inside the underground headquarters. So Ranshin knew that there were sections of Red Ribbon that she had never seen. Including the one room that she was currently hoping to find.

"You'd better be right." Ranshin muttered as she hovered and flew off.

There was something very wrong. Ranshin could feel it. Something was making her nervous. Not just that she had broken into Red Ribbon and blown up a power generator, it was more than that. An odd sensation. Ranshin didn't understand what the sensation meant and didn't care to consult the ghosts in the area. So she ignored the odd dizziness. Flying along in the darkness, struggling to keep her bearings and follow Android Nines directions. They had to be getting close. Turn, turn, go to the end of the hallway, last door on the left -

Ranshin kicked the door off its hinges which raised a cloud of dust.

The room was tinted green by her aura, filled with wavering shadows. Ranshin smiled. This was the prize she had come for.

"Get off."

Android Nine was dumped into chair.

Ranshin hesitated, she wasn't quite sure why but it seemed the right time to say a few things. Just in case the spirits were listening. She addressed her remarks to a stack of paperwork on a low table. "Sensei Tsuru-sennin? You did always say to learn from other peoples mistakes. So I hope that you understand. I don't mean any disrespect."

She carefully began to pick up some objects. Books, scrolls, posters.

"Put them on the bed." Android Nine suggested quietly. "That can be capsulized."

"Good idea." Ranshin was vaguely aware of something in the corridor. It wasn't too far away. Maybe it was watching. She could feel the energy and the dizziness. Whatever was out there, it was causing the dizziness. Yet the presence didn't seem threatening.

As she carried items to the bed, Ranshin glanced warily toward the doorway. She caught a glimpse of movement but nothing else. Maybe it was just a ghost?

Ranshin shook her head and continued stacking objects on the bed. She took all the decorative items from the room. Carved ivory crane figurines, a pair of dark sunglasses, a walking stick, some candles, traditional paperlamps, a nice throw rug and basically anything else that showed a hint of personality. It wasn't as if the Red Ribbon Army needed any of the Crane Masters belongings. Besides, Ranshin didn't intend to keep all these things - maybe one or two items for good luck but the rest she could use to build a proper memorial for the deceased Crane Master.

Honestly, the books were the main reason that Ranshin had come. Her former sensei had collected a private library on the subject of martial arts. And here they all were, shelves full of books. Perfectly undisturbed. Complete with all the hand-written notes that the Crane Master had left in the margins. Ranshin mentally vowed to improve her reading skills.

There wasn't a closet in the room but there was a dresser. Ranshin frowned at it. Taking a dead persons books was one thing but going through their sock drawer somehow seemed more intrusive. She didn't need the Crane Masters clothes for anything. Although... What if Tsuru-sennin had kept other things in the drawers as well? Ranshin pulled a dresser drawer open, searched through a pile of neatly folded tunics and came up with a hatchet, a golden necklace and a photo albumn. That settled it. Ranshin went through all the other drawers. In the bottom drawer, much to her surprise, was a blue silk robe wrapped in clear plastic and surrounded by mothballs. It didn't look ancient. Yet the robe bore the emblem of Master Mutaitos school.

She added the robe to the pile on the bed and glanced around nervously, still feeling watched. Once she was certain that she'd collected everything worthwhile, she stood back. "How?"

With grumbled complaints, Android Nine walked over to the bed and knelt beside it. He reached under the bedframe, found a button and poof - the bed and everything on it was capsulized. Nine stood, handing the capsule to Ranshin. "Can we leave now?"

Ranshin nodded, pocketing the capsule as she turned towards the door.

There was a soft click and a flash of light. The word 'camera' wandered across Ranshins mind but she wasn't sure where the idea had come from. She had reflexively dropped into a defensive stance, tense and ready to attack. So when she caught sight of a pale blueish streak flying away down the hall ... Ranshins own aura flared. She flew down the hall in pursuit.

"Hey!" Android Nine ran into the corridor but was quickly left in the dark. He uttered as many curses as his programming permitted. How was Ranshin going to find her way out without him? How could she find her way back to him? And ... Nine had escaped from Red Ribbon on his own once before. He just hoped that he could do it again.

**ooxoo**

_**H**__umans!_

Technically, the entire immense underground structure of Red Ribbon Headquarters could be considered Dr. Geros labratory. There wasn't a room in the place that hadn't - at some point or another - been home to one of his experiments. However most of his experiments had started in this room. A small lab by any standards. Cold and sterile and currently lit by the flame of a chemical burner due to the sudden lack of electricity.

Dr. Gero paced the room, hands folded behind his back and eyes slightly glazed. His private chamber, home to the handful of personal items that he owned, was on the other side of an open door. The bed was unmade. He couldn't sleep.

_Humans!_

The idea had been with Dr. Gero for several weeks now. It had started with the announcement of a lawsuit against Red Ribbon, INC. And the pressure from the World Government and the media to finish an android had only added fuel to the internal fire. And the way that people were always leaving. The constant bad news had made a lot of Red Ribbon members quit. There was just so much going wrong. But Dr. Gero viewed it all as one big problem. Not several small problems. From his point of view, there was only one thing wrong.

_Humans._

The World Government was run by humans. The media - human. The Red Ribbon members that had quit - human. The employees of rival businesses - human. Most of the warriors that defended Earth - human. In short, as far as Dr. Gero was concerned, everyone that was working against him was human. That was the common denominator. Even the rebellious genetic children, they had been human enough. And the androids? Early androids made to look and act like industrial vacuum cleaners had never caused any troubles. Never disobeyed orders. It was only when androids had starting imitating humans that the problems had arisen.

Really, Dr. Gero was starting to think that -

But some part of his mind resisted the thought. Because after all, Dr. Gero was a human and a perfectionist as well. He couldn't accept the idea of being a member of an inferior species. Humankind was flawed, perhaps, but Dr. Gero remained convinced that the entire human race could be fixed.

Still. Dr. Gero couldn't help but wonder. If he designed non-humanoid androids, would anyone care? Would there still be lawsuits and annoying news reporters and World Government officials demanding status updates?

Maybe not. Perhaps people would lose interest. Maybe people would just leave him alone and let him do the work he loved.

A very appealing concept.

Dr. Gero had always envisioned the future as an android utopia. A crime-and-disease-free land of beautiful, humanoid, androids. Non-humanoid androids had never had a place in that mental picture. But maybe they could.

Non-humanoid androids. Dr. Gero typed the idea into his own personal super computer for safe keeping. He would research the concept more, later.

For now there were other projects to work on. Red Ribbon had promised to finish three entire androids before the end of next year. With the process so rushed, Dr. Gero had to doubt that the resulting androids would be good for anything but show. Still. When they were completed androids 13, 14 and 15 should to be enough to make the media back off for a while and to secure more funding from the World Government.

**ooxoo**

**A** streak of pale blue shot across the winter landscape. Seconds later, a streak of green followed it through the sky.

Chaozu wasn't unhappy that the kid was following him. He just hadn't expected the kid to be this fast. That and - well. Where could he go, all things considered? He couldn't just fly home. The cabin was probably still a mess. Blood and broken glass and bear traps - not a good place to take a child. Besides, the kid had just left Red Ribbon Headquarters. Who knew. She might still be loyal to Red Ribbon. Leading a possible Red Ribbon member straight to his home... Even if Red Ribbon did already know the address, Chaozu disliked the idea.

But a little more than anything else, Chaozu was thinking of his most trusted friend on Earth. And he just couldn't imagine Ten-san reacting well to the kid, not at the moment. Maybe on a good day when Tenshinhan wasn't feeling sick and hadn't been attacked in the night by a criminal organization - that would probably be a better time for introductions.

And really, how did you introduce someone to a ... Er. What WAS the kid? She was a triclops, that much was clear. But was she a modified clone? Or did she have biological parents? Had Red Ribbon kidnapped the girl? Or had they created her? And what had the girl been doing back there? Those items she had collected. Some of the items had looked similar to objects that Chaozu remembered the Crane Master owning. Could that mean - ?

A thin bolt of green energy answered the unspoken question. A weak attack but recognizable.

Oh-kay. The girl knew dodonpa. So she must have trained with the Crane Master for at least a little while. Always good to be aware of things like that.

_I have got to pay more attention... _Chaozu scolded himself as he zigzagged away from the next attack.

He dove downward, flew closer to the ground. It would be easy enough to lose the kid. He'd just have to land in the snow and power down. The girl would probably fly right past him. Which would leave her vulnerable to an attack. But did he really want to attack a child? Especially when he had no idea where he could take her?

No.

And she wasn't an ordinary kid either, obviously, so she'd probably be all right on her own.

Chaozu landed and instantly suppressed his ki. As the girl zipped past overhead, Chaozu memorized her energy signature. She wasn't too far above average, in terms of power. Just enough to stand out if someone was looking for her. So it wouldn't be too difficult to locate the kid later.

He waited until the green streak was out of sight then returned to the air.

Chaozu had pictures to develop. That was his mission of the day, to get the camera home safely. To publish the photos that he'd taken inside Red Ribbon Headquarters. He'd have to make sure that his lawyers got a copy. And the World Government. And he was going to have to find a way to tell at least Ten-san about the androids in progress. Because if Cyborg Tao Pai Pai was being rebuilt then that meant an old enemy might come back to haunt them. Again. So it might be wise to relocate for a while. Again.

Being focused on all these various issues, Chaozu didn't immediately notice that the green streak had made a sharp u-turn and was coming back after him. However, once he DID notice -

The green aura vanished. The unconscious girl began tumbling towards the ground.

Chaozu honestly hadn't meant to knock the kid senseless. It was just a reflex. He'd been training against opponents who exceeded his own power for so long that he didn't bother to hold back as much anymore. He wasn't accustomed to his attacks being so effective. The trouble with fighting, Chaozu thought as he rushed to intercept the falling child, was that after a while a warrior might take their own power for granted.

**ooxoo**


	18. Turbulence: October 27th, 763 AD

_**Eclipse**_

**by DoraMouse**

**ooxoo**

**Turbulence: October 27th, 763 A.D.**

**T**here were certain situations that most creatures on Earth would find awkward. For Tenshinhan, being in the presence of Kami was near the top of that list. There were so many contradictions. Kami was a warrior but he didn't fight. Kami was the peaceful guardian of Earth yet his students were some of the most dangerous warriors on the planet. How could someone so peaceful and calm be related to a self-proclaimed demon like Piccolo? How could an alien be trusted to protect the human race?

It had been strange, being trained by Kami. Tenshinhan had never said much about this but it did still bother him. As a former assassin, he had never expected to be working around an immortal.

People had their own ideas about immortals. Tenshinhan was no exception. He came from a once-imperial family. So from childhood, he had always been told that gods were human. He had grown up with the traditional concepts of his culture - where beautiful young women and wise old men with long beards acted as the personifications of all the major aspects of life and death. Although Tenshinhan had rapidly outgrown the need for religion, he hadn't quite made peace with the whole concept. Kami simply didn't look the way that Tenshinhan had always expected an immortal to look.

And that was only the tip of the proverbial iceberg.

There was, now, also King Kai to consider. Granted, King Kai was very powerful and thus worthy of some respect. But the god had seemed to care more about telling jokes than taking care of his quadrant of the universe. Not a terribly comforting thought. Humanoid or not, Tenshinhan had expected the gods to at least take their duties seriously. King Kai hadn't, at least not outwardly. But perhaps that had to do with age. King Kai was apparently over twenty million years old. So he had to know what he was doing - a quarter of the universe had survived under his guardianship for eons. Yes. Maybe King Kai could afford to goof off. Maybe the god had earned that right. Maybe any creature that could survive to such a mind-boggling age was entitled to a sense of humor, no matter how poor or badly outdated the jokes were.

Still. Even Kami seemed a bit too relaxed and passive sometimes. Tenshinhan didn't like it. He had seen the world endangered far too often. Trust. That was the barrier. Tenshinhan had never fully trusted any of his previous sensei yet there had always been a little trust, at least, between student and teacher. But Kami ... And King Kai ... Tenshinhan didn't trust them. Not at all. The immortals had too many secrets.

Kami glanced up from a magazine printed in an alien language. One of the many abilities that Kami possessed was the power to teleport from Earth straight into the afterlife. Which is what Kami had done. Hence instead of going back to the Lookout as Kami had originally proposed, they were here. Sitting on opposite sides of an otherwise empty waiting room in the afterlife.

The afterlife didn't bother Tenshinhan very much. The residents of the afterlife were, by average human standards, all rather strange in appearance. So Tenshinhan felt that he blended in. Nobody stared or made any comments about his third eye. It wasn't a big deal here. On top of that, just plain being in the afterlife seemed to improve his psychic awareness. Usually, though, even with improved awareness Tenshinhan would not be able to read Kamis mind. However for some reason, Kami had let his guard down. Tenshinhan got the feeling that this was deliberate, that Kami wanted to have his mind read. Which did not settle well with Tenshin.

"You knew that Garlic Junior would come, didn't you?" Tenshinhan didn't typically start these kinds of conversations but at the moment, he preferred to have the words spoken aloud.

Kami returned his attention to the magazine and spoke in an apologetic tone without looking up. "Yes and no. I knew that Garlic Junior might come to Earth. I just didn't know when."

"And do you know what's happened to Goku?"

Kami remained silent for moment, turning a page. Then he said. "That's not relevant at the moment." After a few tense seconds, Kami added. "Goku will have to explain someday. I don't have the time."

"You're immortal. How can you not have time?" Tenshinhan managed to leave it at that, despite temptations to further question the gods comments. How insulting, to think that perhaps Kami had given Goku more information than the rest of them. Why leave the rest of Earths defenders out of the loop?

"I don't know how much longer I'll be around." Kamis voice had dropped to a whisper. "Psychics Curse, you understand."

Tenshinhan did. When a psychic began to predict their own death - especially when the visions failed to include the specific time and method of death - that was known as the Psychics Curse. But even hearing this news was not much cause for alarm. Kami had died once before. They'd been able to get him back, eventually, with the Namekian dragonballs. It would be tricky and the Earth set of dragonballs would be inactive for a while but Kami could probably be wished back again, if needed.

"No." Kami shook his head, answering the thought. "I think this time, death wins forever."

An awkward silence filtered into the room, the type of silence that made tiny noises seem abnormally loud. The breeze created by a spirit floating past, the magazine pages rustling, the comfortable chairs creaking.

Why in the world would Kami be telling him this? Tenshinhan had no idea, he drew a momentary blank. Was this some sort of trick? Death didn't seem like the sort of subject that Kami would bluff about. But how could the god be so calm?

Then assassin-mode kicked in, shoving the confusion and sentimentality away from Tenshins mind. Death was a natural process. Kami had been mortal once, so perhaps he was as vulnerable as anyone else. And Kami didn't seem too upset about the concept of permenant death so there wasn't any reason to do more than accept the facts. The facts were simple. If Kami died then Piccolo would also die. The Earth set of dragonballs would be rendered useless. And the Earth would be without a guardian.

Tenshinhan quickly found that he didn't care overly much about any of these issues. The dragonballs had always seemed like more trouble than they were worth, good riddence. And although Piccolo had proven useful in the past, he was too much of a liability. While Tenshinhan had gained some respect for the Namekian warrior, he wouldn't miss the self-proclaimed demon. One less thing for Earths defenders to worry about. And the next guardian of Earth, as long as it wasn't a Saiyan ... No. It couldn't be. Gohan was too young, Goku - if he was even still alive somewhere - had already turned the job down and Vegeta was off in space, hopefully to never return.

Which lead Tenshin back to his first reaction. Why was Kami telling him any of this? It didn't make any sense. Kamis death would not affect Tenshin. Unless... No. There was just no way. Tenshinhan did not view himself as guardian material.

"A shame." Kami smiled one of his forced smiles.

The visions of his own demise had begun a few days ago. In truth, death didn't bother Kami too much. Privately he was far more saddened by the idea that only three creatures on Earth were willing to consider him a friend. And the humans in particular, some of the human defenders were perfectly capable of becoming decent guardians. Why didn't they realize it? Kami was disappointed in his students for turning away from the challenge. There was so much that he wanted to say to them. But Kami wasn't sure that anyone would listen.

For the time being, Kami chose not to pursue these topics. Instead, after a few moments, he closed the magazine and returned it to the small table centered in the waiting room. As casually as possible, he asked. "Didn't you have some questions for me?"

There were questions. Lots of them. Earlier that month, Red Ribbon had caught Tenshinhan off guard. They'd captured him and let him go. Tenshinhan wasn't sure why. He didn't know what Red Ribbon was planning or how many of the Earths defenders they might have cloned. Had those even been clones that he had fought? And why Bulma, of all people? Yamucha was a warrior and a celebrity but Bulma? Why hadn't Red Ribbon cloned someone else? Or had they? And what about the little triclops? Was that some kind of clone? And the balance, the natural balance of power - how badly damaged was that now? Could the balance be restored? Was it possible to prevent another bizarre disaster from striking the Earth?

But Tenshinhan wasn't in the mood to continue this conversation. Kami would tell him the truth but perhaps not the whole truth and Tenshinhan didn't feel like solving riddles. "I don't think I want to know." He said in a way that ended the discussion.

Kami accepted this with a short hurt silence. Then he stood. His mind was full of thoughts - blame, mostly. He was silently blaming himself. Over three hundred Earth years of being the Earths guardian yet despite all his efforts, Kami had failed to instill any real sense of confidence in the human race. Now he felt that his time was running out and what was left to try? Kami didn't know. Three hundred years worth of hopeful optimism was starting to transform into crushing defeat. He had failed. He had failed the entire human race. These were private thoughts, Kami did not feel inclined to share them. Some part of him was still in denial of the future he'd begun envisioning. He didn't want to give up on the human race just yet. It wouldn't be professional.

A kick of adrenaline brushed Kamis system. He blinked then turned to face the nearest ghostly clerk. "My nephew will be waking up soon."

The spirit that he'd spoken to nodded before picking up a folder and drifting out of the waiting room, into the main office.

**ooxoo**

**R**evenge was not supposed to be part of Android Nines vocabulary. He had been built to run errands. Designed to take messages, file paperwork and wash counters. A janitor. A secretary. Less than that. He wasn't supposed to have fighting instincts. But he was an android. He lived with a bomb inside of him. The concept that someone - some human - could press a button and take away his existence had always frightened Nine. And now it was also making him angry. He shouldn't have to live this way, with a bomb inside him. He shouldn't have to depend on Red Ribbon for a mission in life. It was wrong. It was evil. It was ... High time that he did something to correct the situation.

Android Nine could not remove the bomb inside him. He could, however, take away the button that would activate that bomb.

Nine did not like the idea of actually killing anyone. But what choice did he have? The scientists had remote controls for deactivating androids. If Nine just found and broke all of the remotes, the scientists could repair them. If he destroyed the remotes, the scientists were capable of building new ones. In order to feel halfway safe, Nine had concluded that he must destroy the scientists as well as the remotes.

He wasn't a warrior. Hadn't been designed for combat. That, Nine had realized, was only a serious disadvantage in combat situations. There wasn't any rule that said you had to be a warrior in order to kill people, not that Android Nine was aware of. Just because he wasn't much good at punching and kicking things - that didn't mean he was harmless.

A map of Red Ribbon Headquarters was programmed into his brain. Nine could find his way out, he planned to escape again. But not before the trap was set. Ranshin had blown up a power generator yesterday, sending the underground headquarters into darkness. Red Ribbon was still recovering from that attack. Repairs weren't possible to the blown up generator. And apparently smuggling a new generator to a base located under the north desert without being noticed was not easy, not even for an army of criminals. There were backup generators but the use of electricity was limited. So most of the lights were still out. The lack of alarms indicated that the security systems were not the highest priority here.

Android Nine was grateful for that. He hadn't been noticed yet. The extended power outage had given him a rare opportunity to get into one of the more secure areas of the base.

Red Ribbon built androids. And all the androids, even the prototypes, had bombs inside them. Logically, then, Red Ribbon also built bombs. Android Nine knelt in the arsenal. What an irony it would be to kill the scientists with the very bombs that had been built for the purpose of forcing androids to self-destruct.

He'd already finished wiring the first wave of explosives. The exits were covered. Nine had worked for several hours straight to accomplish this. It had been difficult, sneaking around in the dark with bombs. But his determination would be worth it when the bombs went off.

So the first wave of explosions would destroy all the exits. Trap everyone underground, prevent escape. That was the plan. The second wave - which Nine was almost finished with - was meant to travel through and destroy the structural integrity of the base. If Red Ribbon Headquarters collapsed - that would leave a sizeable crater in the north desert above. But it would also make Nine feel safe because the chances of human survival in such a disaster were reduced to practically nonexistant. Maybe Dr. Gero would die and the Red Ribbon organization would once again be without a leader. Maybe the surviving portions of the group would split into factions. Maybe he'd get lucky and Red Ribbon would cease to exist.

Being an android, it was not possible for Nine to completely dull his senses. He was focused on the wiring but he heard the footsteps. And he chose not to react. Finishing the trap was more important. Besides, the people would probably go past the arsenal where he was working. Nine was confident they'd just go past. All the other people that he'd heard while working on the trap, they'd just gone past.

The footsteps approached. The door of the arsenal was forced open. A pair of guards wearing Red Ribbon uniforms entered. Laser pistols hung from their belts and high powered rifles were strapped across their backs. One guard carried a flashlight while the other had a clipboard under his arm. They muttered complaints about having to take inventory.

And then the guards noticed Android Nine. And their expressions made it clear that they knew he was not supposed to be here.

Nine did not panic. He knew that he had one tiny advantage. He was in an arsenal, a room full of explosives. Surely, the guards would realize that shooting at him in here was an extremely stupid idea.

Or not. The guards reached for their weapons, probably out of habit. Nine glared at them. Well. If that's how they were going to be, fine. They would just have to learn the hard way that things had changed. Nine refused to be a passive little android victim. No. Today, he was in control. Today, he would be the one pressing the buttons.

Nine pressed a button. Red Ribbon Headquarters exploded.

**ooxoo**

**F**ew things in the universe could irritate Piccolo more than waking up in a dentists office. True, the ghostly dentists in the afterlife knew infinitely more about Nameks than any of the dentists on Earth. But that didn't make them likeable.

Piccolo hated dentists.

This was his uncles fault. Piccolo had been born with a fair portion of his fathers demonic ego and over the years, Kami had put several noticable dents in that ego. One of the very first humiliations had come shortly after Piccolos birth and had involved a trip to the afterlife dentist. Nothing like having your teeth x-rayed to make it clear that you weren't in control of your own fate. And it was hard to feel evil when your fangs were so damn clean. And even in the afterlife, the dentists were in the horrible habit of being cheerful all the time and smiling too much and handing out free toothbrushes.

Needless to say, Piccolo had left the offensive free toothbrush embedded into the face of the afterlife dentist.

"You were overdue for an appointment, nephew." Kami was calm and polite, speaking in Namekian. "You've had ten years to go on your own."

Piccolo refused to reply with more than an incoherant hiss. He couldn't speak Namekian anywhere near as fluently as his uncle. Kami was a native. Kami had been born and raised on the original planet Namek. Piccolo had been born and raised on Earth. Despite the fact that he'd been born with some of his fathers memories and despite the fact that he had fused with Nails, a native warrior of Nameksei, the Namekian language had remained essentially alien to Piccolo. Because his fathers memories had mostly been of hatred. And fusing with Nails had gained him far more strength than knowledge.

The reincarnated natives of Nameksei had stayed on Earth for almost ten whole months. By the Namekian calendar, that was just over two years. Certainly long enough to teach a language. But old habits died hard. Piccolo had spent the vast majority of those ten months in isolation, pausing only occasionally to return to civilization and threaten Vegetas life or visit with the very few creatures on Earth that he had significant amounts of respect for. As a result... Now Gohan - who had visited Dende and the others practically every day - was more fluent in the Namekian language than Piccolo was. Even Kuririn spoke the language well. And Master Roshi. And Yamucha. And Puar. And Oolong. And Yajirobe. And Korin. And Bulmas parents. And -

Kami had to know this. Which had to be why Kami was speaking to him in Namekian. It was probably meant to humble him. Just like the visit to the dentist. Just like so many other things.

Piccolo was in no mood to be humbled. He'd made that clear.

He remained silent to avoid the obvious trap. Food. He'd had that debate with Kami at least fifty times before. Nameks didn't NEED to eat to survive. Nameks as a species were designed to survive on nothing more than water, air and sunlight. But yes - Nameks COULD eat, if they wanted to. Certain kinds of food, served in small portions, wouldn't hurt them.

Piccolo knew this from experience. There had been moments in his youth when he'd been curious about food. Most of what Piccolo had eaten had left him sick - too sweet, too sour, too salty, too many spices - but he'd gained a fondness for apples and a few other things.

The disadvantage of these youthful explorations was that Kami felt oblidged to kidnap him and drag him to the afterlife dentist. But the benefits had gradually become apparent. Possessing the simple knowledge of what was edible had, in fact, saved Gohans life just over two Earth years ago. Because when left in the wilderness to train, Gohan - age four and a half - had not hunted very much. So it had been up to Piccolo to leave food where the boy would find it. If Piccolo hadn't known what food was... Gohan might have survived on his own but he might have starved to death and in the long run, the boy probably wouldn't have made any progress in his training.

Yet the fact that a Namek COULD eat didn't mean that they always DID. Humans, Piccolo knew, considered it standard to eat three meals a day. And days on Earth were only twelve hours long. That meant one meal every four hours. And the average human meal usually had at least two stages - main course and dessert, with many other phases that could be added on. And then there was the concept of snacking between meals.

Piccolo simply did not get that hungry, that often.

Considering this, Piccolo did not understand at all why it was necessary to visit a dentist as often as once every ten years. Even if a Namek did happen to age three times faster than a human. Even if ten Earth years was equal to thirty Namek years. It was still too often. Why bother a dentist?

"I will not be eternally spirit-bound to someone with bad breath and cavities." Kami remarked, still speaking in Namekian.

Piccolo narrowed his eyes, wanting to strangle his uncle for the insult. It was bad enough to be accused of poor hygiene and worse to be reminded of the spirit-bond. Which wasn't eternal, couldn't be. Piccolo knew that he would find the means to break away, become independent. Someday. He had to. He didn't care to share his uncles fate, whatever that might be.

The Namekian language had almost no swear words. While Piccolo was attempting to invent a snide phrase to capture his sentiments, the scenary changed.

Kami had not teleported. The three of them had been walking along a cloudy path in the afterlife and the path ended here. Kami, who had been leading the way, had stepped off the end of the path. Instead of plummeting into a foggy colorless void, he now stood on the familiar tile floor of the Lookout. Piccolo had followed without hesitation or much reaction, he'd seen this path once before. But Tenshinhan, who had been trailing and watching the Nameks with silent interest, paused at the edge of the path. He stared past the Nameks and the Lookout, concerned. Then he flicked his gaze to Kami, frowning.

"You planned this?" Tenshinhan accused.

Kami shook his head and switched back to Common, the main Earth language. "No." A slight smile crept into his features. "But nor do I regret it."

**ooxoo**

**A** pair of ki hung in the air not far from the Lookout. Both energy signatures were faint and fluctuating, the only outward sign of their struggle.

It was the mental equivalent of arm-wrestling.

Ranshin was holding back. She knew that her opponent was doing the same, holding back, so she thought it wise to keep some of her own power in reserve for the time being. She might need it later.

She didn't have clear memories of being knocked out. She remembered chasing the blue blur from Red Ribbon. But how long ago had that been? How long had she been unconscious? Where was she now? Ranshin didn't recognize the landscape below, with the strange and monsterous tower that rose out of the desert into the clouds.

Forget it. Ignore it. Figure it out later.

Concentrate.

Ranshin focused on the battle of wills. She had to close her mind, guard her thoughts and concentrate. She had to try to shove the enemies mind away, rip his defense apart, leave his secrets wide open.

Why was her opponent holding back? She had seen this opponent before, on television and in videos of past tournaments. This was one of the opponents the Crane Master had spoken so negatively of, had called a traitor. The Crane Master. Ranshin felt her energy flare as the memories stirred. This opponent had been an enemy of her deceased teacher.

A hundred thousand ghosts inserted their opinions. Many of the spirits that lurked around Korins Tower were warriors. Ancient warriors.

_Where is your honor? _The ghosts were screaming. _Why do you continue to live when your teacher has died? Why is this enemy of your teacher permitted to exist if you can still fight? Have you no shame? Where is your loyalty?_

It was hard for Ranshin to concentrate. She fended off the attempts to enter her mind and squinted. It was obvious that this opponent - this small pale warrior - had a lot more experience with mind-wrestling. Yet... He didn't seem affected by the ghosts. How strange. And why had the pale warrior been carrying her? Ranshin understood that she'd been knocked out but she didn't understand why someone would knock her out and then let her live.

_Death before capture!_ The ghosts howled. _Have you no honor?!_

Ranshin carefully hid the fear that these ghosts and their angry questions raised. _Honor is what you make it._ She thought, quoting the Crane Master. The ghosts reacted badly to her telepathic words, screaming threats and curses. Ranshin had expected this and had braced herself and - she wasn't exactly sure how - but she managed to mentally sidestep her opponents mind.

Ten or so yards away, Chaozu blinked. His efforts to calm the girl and read her thoughts had somehow been redirected. He wasn't in her mind anymore. Instead, he was now painfully aware of the abstract protests of upset ghosts. Even though he'd been a ghost twice - and compared to a ghost many times while alive - Chaozu was not terribly sympathetic to ghosts. Ordinarily, he tuned them out. To have that defense mechanism broken... Was startling. It made Chaozu wonder how much training the girl had. She didn't look old enough to have been training for very long.

Without turning, both of their attentions shifted. Kamis Lookout was off to the left and out of sight high above the clouds. But the Lookout didn't have to be visible. The energy signatures were enough. There were three energy signatures there now and Chaozu recognized all of them. Piccolo and Tenshinhan and Kami. A fourth ki as Mister Popo lifted his aura above zero. A fifth ki signaled that Korin was observing from his tower.

Kami was the immortal Namek who was currently responsible for guarding Earth. Mister Popo was a humanoid immortal whose sole duty, it seemed, was to guard the Lookout where Kami resided. Korin, who lived in the massive tower below the Lookout, was a mysterious and immortal humanoid cat with at least half a dozen conflicting titles attributed to him. None of the gods had powered up. Their energies were benevolent, their ki signatures registering in a way that was vaguely comparable to speech. What were the gods up to, Chaozu wondered, how could this situation warrant such attention from all three of the Earths immortals?

The girl seemed aware of them too. Could she detect ki? Who could have taught her that? Surely, not the Crane Master! Not unless he'd changed.

She hadn't been fighting at full force. Chaozu knew that. He'd held back so as to avoid killing her. But why had the girl held back? It was as if she didn't really want to fight. And now that she believed herself outnumbered... A moment before the sky flashed white, Chaozu closed his eyes. Anticipating the attack. Taiyouken, the girl had used taiyouken. Now she was flying away. He focused on her ki. North. Northeast.

Maybe the girl would go back to Red Ribbon?

Chaozu let the energy gather in his fingertips. His expression tinged with regret. It wasn't honorable. The girl had her back to him, she wouldn't have a chance to defend. But letting her escape could be risky. True, Red Ribbon already knew where Korins Tower was. But no member of Red Ribbon had ever been this close to the top of the tower before. What if the girl told her superiors about what she'd seen? Would it bring attacks on the indian village below that guarded the base of the tower? Attacks against the tower itself? Or more attacks on his own home, the summer cabin in the mountains?

_Let her go._ Kami thought. The ghosts in the area disagreed with Kami but they also respected him and so their protests fell silent.

**ooxoo**

**T**he explosions had not killed him. Nine hadn't expected them to. He wasn't sure that androids could die. Because if an android was blown up or taken apart then they could be repaired. If an android was turned off then they could be reactivated. Androids were machines. Not human and perhaps not mortal.

Not immortal either though, Android Nine reflected. Because even if machines couldn't die, they could short circuit. Or worse, they could become outdated. Maybe that was death enough. Maybe it was only the human definitions of death and aging that didn't apply to androids. Maybe androids needed to have their own definitions of such things.

Yes. He would die, Nine decided. Because nobody could help him now. The explosions had done their work. Red Ribbon Headquarters had collapsed. The scientists had to be dead. And even if some had survived, even if the survivors found him - they wouldn't want to repair him. They'd turn him off and take him apart and that would be end of him, forever. Because even if the surviving scientists didn't know of his treachery, the labs were gone now. The tools. The scientists had no way of repairing an android here. And why would they want to? What good would an android do them? No. If they were sensible, the survivors would want to continue surviving. So they'd be looking for food and water and bandages and something to dig to the surface with.

What a silly thought! Humans being sensible!

Nine laughed. It was a faint, bitter sound and it didn't travel far. His vocal chips had been damaged and the arsenal was filled with a silence as dense as the pile of concrete that Nine was trapped under.

Yes. The explosions had done their work very well. Scattered piles of crumbled rock, twisted metal and frayed wires were all that remained of the walls. And without the walls for support, the ceiling had come down - immediately and heavily - in almost one piece. And this was the second sub-level. So the ceiling of this level had been the floor of the rooms above and without the floor to stabilize things, the walls and ceiling of the the rooms above had rained down.

Nine listened to and appreciated the silence. The explosions and their results had all been so noisy. It was a relief, to finally be able to hear his own thoughts again.

He was pinned to the ground.

The first ceiling had been unavoidable and its weight had crushed most of his body. A mental list of system errors told Nine which parts were no longer responding. Examining the list, he could see the order in which things had happened. His arms had gone first. Then the impact of the ceiling had both set off and suppressed his own internal bomb. So his chest contained a large hole. Everything from his waist down had separated and was probably buried under a different pile of debree. But his internal bomb had gone off improperly because he hadn't self-destructed. He was still here, he could still think. His head and charred upper torso had been thrown into a corner by the blast, where a pile of former-wall had prevented the ceiling from flattening him completely.

It had been fast and painless - because he couldn't feel physical pain anyway - and he had no regrets. The trap had worked. He had accomplished the mission that he'd chosen for himself.

Nine couldn't move and knew that he probably shouldn't speak. A sense of calm settled over his mind as he listened to the silence.

Perhaps this was death. Not too unpleasant, really. Now he had plenty of time to think. And there was so much to think about. Humans and androids and bombs and death and justice and Red Ribbon. To keep boredom away, if necessary, he could count the number of specks on the ceiling or the number of cracks in the floor or estimate the size of the crater now in the north desert. Ah, yes. That was good one. If only the wiring for his facial features had been working properly, Nine might have smiled.

**ooxoo**


	19. Glimmer: November 8th, 763 AD

_**Eclipse**_

**by DoraMouse**

**ooxoo**

**Glimmer: November 8th, 763 A.D.**

**V**isitors were not an infrequent occurance at Kame Island. But most of the visitors these days made Oolong nervous. Which was odd, perhaps, because nobody had ever come specifically to visit him. Not once.

Nevertheless when he spotted the approaching vehicle, Oolong went to his room inside the Kame House. He locked the door, locked the window, pulled the curtains closed and hoped that things would be safe soon. He assumed - as he had gotten into the habit of doing - that the visitor was dangerous, which almost made him glad that he never had visitors.

Oolong had taken up residence on the island nearly five years ago. There had been no questions or explanations, he had simply moved into the Kame House one day. The choice had been a personal one. Master Roshi and Kuririn seemed to understand. But the understanding of his housemates and the seclusion of this lovely tropical island did have its price. Danger.

Because even their friends were dangerous.

THEIR friends. Not his. Not really.

Oolong had only ever seen Gohan from a distance. This was deliberate. Gohan might be nice - Oolong couldn't say for certain - but the company the boy kept... Oolong had learned to fear ChiChis wrath more than twelve years ago and he had never forgotten about the dire threat that Piccolo had once posed to the world. Beyond this... He had always regarded Bulma as blatantly manipulative and thus wise to avoid. And Gokus ability to do the impossible on a regular basis had terrified Oolong from day one. As to the various immortals and the other warriors on Earth, Oolong was willing to think of them as friends but they were the sort of friends that you only heard from maybe once or twice a year. They all had lives of their own, which was fine. Oolong didn't resent the infrequent contact. He actually relished it. As long as all the warriors and immortals stayed busy then things seemed to go all right. Anymore, if the group got together then either the world was endangered or it was time for another tournament.

Living around Kuririn and Master Roshi for so long had made Oolong aware of ki. More aware. To be fair, Oolong had known about ki for ages. Shapeshifting required a certain amount of understanding and control in the personal energy department. But that had been the limit of his formal education. He'd learned about his own energy. He'd learned how to use his energy for shapeshifting. Yet Oolong hadn't begun to detect the energy of other creatures until after he'd moved into the Kame House.

He still wasn't very good at ki detection. Eventually though Oolong realized that the visitor outside could not be anyone he knew. The presence was unfamiliar. Curious, Oolong crept over to the window that offered the best view of the ancient palm tree. His eyes swiftly located the old man. There was only one mature palm tree on the island and Master Roshi seemed to favor its shade for his beachfront naps.

Roshi, clad as usual in bright clothes and dark sunglasses, was stretched out on a battered lawn chair. A open magazine lay across Roshis face and the old mans bare feet were propped up by a pile of similiar magazines. Well. Hmf. What to make of that? Roshi had never been much for manners but even he usually stood to greet a visitor. Oolong nearly fell over as a sudden rush of anxiety hit him. Aaah! What if the old man _was actually asleep_? How disgraceful would that be? Oolong studied the ki for a moment but all he could decipher was that Roshi was out there and alive. He couldn't pick out any mood tainting the energy. Couldn't tell from the energy if Roshi was awake or asleep. He wasn't that advanced with ki detection.

Out of the all the residents of the Kame House, Kuririn was easily the best warrior. Kuririn was also, for better or worse, the best cook. Oolong and Master Roshi were both capable of cooking but neither of them were terribly eager or adept. Because prior to the three of them living together, neither Oolong nor Master Roshi had ever truly needed to prepare meals for more than one person. Making enough for one was a simple feat that any of them could accomplish. But when cooking for groups... Master Roshi tended to completely ignore recipes and would mix random things together in a haphazard fashion until the mixture either exploded, started to give off noxious fumes or miraculously became semi-edible. Oolong was about a thousand times more cautious in the kitchen but generally achieved the same level of results. Thus Kuririn was, for the sake of health and public safety, the default chef at the Kame House. And being the chef came with the added responsibility of shopping for groceries. And grocery shopping for a house on a remote island was more or less a day trip.

This was why Oolong felt compelled to do something about this unfamiliar visitor. Kuririn was gone. Nobody else was around to wake Roshi, if the old man wasn't already awake.

Oolong carefully opened his window and blurred. Where a humanoid pig in denimn overalls had stood was now a small tropical bird. It fluttered nervously into the lone palm tree, trying to act natural and started to chirp with increasing volume.

Below, Roshi snored.

The bird seemed to scowl. Then it promptly set to work. The palm tree rustled. A coconut dropped.

Yes. People could sneak up on Master Roshi. But coconuts? No. The old master had lived on this island for more than two hundred years. He'd taken too many naps in the shade not to be trained against this particular threat.

An instant later, Roshi was sitting up. He glanced from the neatly sliced coconut rings that he now held in his hands to the visitor that stood a few feet away with mild confusion. "Oh, hello." Roshi paused, mentally searching for the name. This visitor appeared familiar but what was... Ah, there. "Isogi Jitsugen, yes?" Roshi suppressed a slight yawn then nodded to indicate the cumbersome brace his visitor wore. The young man was dressed formally but the metallic rods protruding from his left kneecap rather ruined the overall effect. Shame to see such a young person - and to Roshi, anyone under the age of a hundred was practically a toddler - limping so badly. "What happened to you?"

Master Roshi had already reached his own conclusions. The injury seemed recent. Maybe the young man had been in a car accident. Maybe something had happened to him because of the black water mist. Whatever had happened, on some level Roshi didn't really care. He was just making small talk to be polite. To stall. To give him a moment to weigh the situation. Master Roshi was not as fluent in energy detection as many of his students were - a fact that troubled him, on occasion - but that did not prevent him from being a fairly decent judge of a persons strength and character. Granted, Roshi had spent the better part of two hundred years in relative isolation. But even so, that still left him with over a hundred and thirty... Goodness. He was closing in on four hundred now. That would be the next major milestone, wouldn't it? Kami, where _had_ the time gone? Anyway. The point was that Roshis prolonged lifespan had exposed him to a diverse array of people. He'd learned to recognize patterns. People were, generally speaking, predictable.

Though there was always room for a surprise or two.

"You've named my great-grandfather." Sensei Jitsugen spoke without meeting the older mans gaze, focused instead on a blur of ruffled color hiding amid the fronds of the palm tree. "Is all the wildlife here so strange?" He asked, privately wondering if it could be possible that a little bird had just made a face at him.

"Life is strange, period." Roshi chuckled. As he spoke he abruptly remembered that he'd dozed off with a magazine covering his face. So he turned his attention to the sand immediately surrounding his chair, scanning intently for some trace of his misplaced literature. When no clues were instantly visible, he leaned to one side and reached down with a flat palm, exploring the sand beneath his chair. No magazine. With frustration creasing the wrinkles of his face, Roshi sat up. He dusted the sand from his palms and tugged thoughtfully at his white mustache. "Same for the afterlife."

There was short but awkward silence. Sensei Jitsugen was in mild shock. How could anyone speak so bluntly and with such confidence about the afterlife, of all things? This conversation was not going as planned but how to get it back on track? Maybe he'd come to the wrong island? Maybe this wasn't really the legendary Kame-sennin? How could it be, really? The old man was sitting out here on a warped lawn chair that had probably never seen a lawn, with a well preserved stack of adult magazines for a footrest. He dressed like a cliche tourist - the bright clashing colors, the ridiculously exaggerated floral prints. All he lacked was about a dozen cameras and a cruise ship. But... The mind. The mind of this old man... As absurd as it seemed... This had to be the Kame-sennin, the Turtle Master. Had to be. But... What to say to him, now?

Roshi ignored his visitor and sighed, his expression unable to decide between a knowing smile or a slight frown. Despite his dark glasses, there was for a moment a hint of mischief evident in his eyes. Because up in the palm tree, a small tropical bird was quietly reading an even more exotic magazine. "Didn't think I'd see you, hrm?" Master Roshi grinned, curling his fingers into a fist. Without getting up from his seat, he reached out and gently tapped the tree trunk.

The tree fell over. No ominous creaking. No waivering back and forth. Just thud, sploosh. Almost like a cartoon. For a split-second the tree hung off balance, trunk high in the air and leaves underwater, but then gravity recovered and the weight of the trunk came crashing down. Sand became airborne as the tree impacted. Something small and colorful was catapulted across the island and out into ocean.

"Ha." Roshi watched the magazine fluttering down towards him. He folded his hands loosely in his lap, smiled and leaned back. As if guided by sheer willpower - and perhaps it was, to some extent - the magazine gradually made its way back to where it had previously been. Perching on the bridge of the old mans nose, the pages draped across his face.

Sensei Jitsugen could not detect energy signatures, let alone power levels. Right at this moment, he didn't need to. He'd been aware of the elite warriors on Earth for a long time. But watching them from a distance and witnessing them firsthand...

_Not even the Crane Master could have done that. Not so casually._ Sensei Jitsugen admitted, unable to remove his eyes from the sight of the toppled palm tree. The hairs on the back of his neck bristled. His muscles tensed. The Crane Master had been the toughest enemy that he'd ever faced. And he'd been in better health back then. Maybe it had been a mistake to come here.

On the other hand, if the old man was asleep then... Perhaps...

Splash. One very soaked blur - more of a smudge, really, with only the vaguest features of a humanoid pig - dragged itself onto the beach. With much incomphrensible muttering and a rather impressive glare, it stomped towards the legendary Kame-sennin and then kicked the lawn chair right out from under the old man. Within the space of only a few heartbeats there followed such a struggle - with the magazine frequently changing hands - that Sensei Jitsugen could scarely follow it. Eventually the pig-shaped blur retreated, with a victorious whoop, to the nearby house and slammed the door behind it.

"Idiot." The old man grumbled affectionately. He did not appear harmed or even winded but he was standing up now. "It's MY house, after all." Roshi shook his head and calmly proceeded to re-plant the palm tree. Then he solemnly assessed the damage to his lawn chair, shook his head some more, tugged at his long beard and propped the beaten chair up with some magazines borrowed from his former footrest.

Roshi returned to his seat, stretching. Very deliberately. He flicked a glance at his visitor, peering over the rims of his glasses a little. He hadn't forgotten the young man but... Well. This was just silly.

"Go on home, son. The pig had a better chance of killing me than you ever will - and he wasn't even trying."

Sensei Jitsugen hesitated, a surge of defiance rippling through his system. He'd worked very hard for his talents. He didn't like being dismissed this way. "I killed the Crane Master." He said in an even tone. Focusing even as he did so. Building his concentration. He could have done this the easy way. Sensei Jitsugen could have used a wide-range method. But... Close range was more personal. Close range made it clear that he was doing his job, that the deaths were no accident. His victims would know and his employers would know and... His ancestors.

A hint of sadness crept into the old mans eyes. "Still upset about Mutaito-sama, hrm? You know, we did all that we could to prevent..." The sadness made it to Roshis voice and he had to look away. "But good teachers do not allow their students to die." _What kind of teacher does that make me? _Roshi thought, the most somber and depressing thing to touch his conscious mind in months. The regret lingered constantly in some level of his brain but it rarely ever surfaced to the point of being recognizable. _Ah, Mutaito-sama, my mentor. So much has changed._

Sensei Jitsugen narrowed his eyes but did not otherwise respond. His ancestor, several generations removed... The emotions that he had been raised with surged through him, falling only a few breaths short of reaching his vocal chords. _Liar! You were his student, you were there! You didn't do everything! You couldn't have! You let him die! You let him be forgotten! You WANTED him forgotten! His own family never even learned the cause of his death! His own wife never even got to see his grave!_

The resentment was like a flaming torch but Sensei Jitsugen refused to be burned any further. The emotions calmed and faded quickly - but never completely. He took a deep breath. He could not afford to let such intense judgements rule him. He had a mission to complete here. Once he had cashed this final warrant in... He would be finished. His contract would expire. He could take the check and go home, to his dojo. The school would need repairs before it could reopen. And in the wake of all the recent chaos, repairs were far more expensive than usual because demand was still so much greater than supply but... The dojo was important. Practical. Symbolic. It mattered. People needed to see things rebuilt, it would give them hope. Besides, he loved teaching - to hell with the doctors who'd said that he had to quit. Sensei Jitsugen didn't know whether or not any of his students would return. He didn't know if any of his students were still alive. The world was such a mess. But... He wanted to be prepared, in case.

Sensei Jitsugen took aim.

**ooxoo**

_**I**__n the year 461 A.D. Master Mutaito died while saving the world from a terrible demon. He left behind a wife and family..._

You'll have heard this little story before. This time, though, it will fall into place. See once upon a time, every wealthly family on Earth had employed its own private army. Wars between clans had been frequent - almost a daily affair. And then, just over two hundred years ago, several of the more powerful clans had united and made notoriously short work of their opposition. After some quick but bloody internal conflicts were settled, a surviving warlord had declared himself the World Emperor. His allies had become the World Government and their clans formed the bulk of the Imperial Army.

Master Mutaito was not the only warrior in his family tree. His clan happened to be among those who formed the bulk of the Imperial Army. Still formed, actually. Many of his descendants continued to serve the Imperial household in some capacity. Soldiers and officers. Guards and gunsmiths. Assassins and spies.

The World Government had spies working inside Red Ribbon. The Crane Master had worked for Red Ribbon. The Crane Master had discovered the spies. Therefore it had been necessary to kill the Crane Master. Death was the only sure way to keep the old man from blowing their cover, endangering the agents or blackmailing the World Government at large. Yes. Death had been necessary.

Sensei Jitsugen had been honored to be the agent selected for the task. Killing was neither enjoyable nor easy but... It was his duty, to uphold the family tradition. To serve the Imperial house. To protect the nation. To avenge in some small way the shameful injustice done to his ancestor.

Why did people expect a martial arts teacher to be harmless? Sensei Jitsugen had not always been a teacher. He had started as a student and then... Well. For a while, he'd just been a martial artist. A fighter. That was the transition period. Still learning but not yet ready to teach. There had been other ambitions to work out first. Other things to try. Nothing had paid so well as fighting, though. So he had trained and fought and had gradually earned a vast array of combat experience as well as a reasonable amount of cash. He had purchased a house and settled down to retirement for a while. He'd exercised to stay in shape. The dojo had begun almost by accident. True - nowadays Sensei Jitsugen stressed the concepts of peace and discipline to his students. He wanted the children to be humble. He wanted them to be good. To be heros. Legends.

He wanted them to avoid following in his own footsteps, to a certain extent.

His students were modern children. They were not honorbound by ancient traditions or royal contracts. Perhaps they would never have to rely on their fighting skills for employment. Perhaps they would never need to experience war. Perhaps they would never be persuaded to end the life of another creature for purely political reasons.

_Murder is not honorable. Intimidation is not honorable. There are better ways to deal with people._The statements lingered in Sensei Jitsugens mind. Fragments of his favorite lectures. Such an irony, that he could not afford to follow his own advice.

**ooxoo**

**L**eaves became airborne. Pebbles, twigs - nearly anything that wasn't rooted to the Earth got knocked forcefully into the air by the passage of a streak of pale green light, close to the ground. Not even a full heartbeat later... A blur of bright orange light, traveling closer to shoulder height and giving off enough energy to bend the trees of the forest. The recently raised clouds of dust parted for the orange blur. The leaves, twigs and pebbles knocked into the path of the orange blur got vaporized and fell to the ground as ashes.

Ki is related to mood. Gohan was estatic.

Piccolo hated being in the middle of these confrontations.

He stood among the trees with his arms folded, cape fluttering behind him. Encased in a shield of dark purple. Frowning. Listening. Mentally cursing his uncle. Piccolo hadn't intended for things to work out this way. But he'd seen and overheard enough to become curious. A little over a week ago, Chaozu had confronted some kind of warrior in the area of Kamis Lookout. His opponent had been a child. Not an adult. A little girl. She could fly. She could throw some weak energy attacks. And oh, yea - she had three eyes. The defenders of Earth, two of them in particular, had claimed not to even know where she had come from. But they had theories. They speculated that maybe the kid worked for a criminal organization. They thought that maybe she had been kidnapped and trained - or possibly even designed and built - by a criminal organization. Chaozu had been reluctantly prepared to kill the kid. Kami had insisted on letting the girl escape.

Piccolo had been tracking her ever since.

He had been mostly alive and mostly on Earth for the past eleven years. If any band of human criminals was capable of creating warriors... _That _was a disturbing thought. If they'd taken samples from the warriors that he knew... Piccolo hated to be curious. He was afraid of being right. He'd lived in isolation and he didn't need to sleep, so it wouldn't have been easy for anyone to sneak up on him but... The other warriors of Earth shouldn't have been easy to sneak up on, either. Yet the evidence had seemed decisive. If someone could build a kid that could fly... If they could build a little triclops... Could these criminals maybe also build another Namekian warrior?

If Piccolo had been on better terms with his uncle then perhaps the mere idea of any other sort of relative existing might not have disgusted him as much.

The blurs tore past him, again. Bending the trees and raising more dust. Going the other direction now. The pale green blur radiated sheer terror and that was probably the only reason Gohan was letting the girl stay ahead of him. Gohan didn't understand why she was afraid. He wasn't trying to scare her.

Piccolo had tried to keep his search private. This was something that he'd wanted to do alone. He had some serious concerns to investigate. He'd followed the girl at a distance, hoping to see where she went. Hoping to learn about her origins. If she belonged to any criminals then Piccolo wanted to cross paths with them. He wanted to know what else these criminals were up to. He wanted to know if the girl had, in fact, been built. He wanted to know why and how the people responsible for this girl had trained such a child. He wanted to know why and how they'd also managed to_ conceal _such a child. She wasn't very strong but the defenders of Earth should have been able to detect her before. If they could have found her a year or two ago, maybe Kami could have trained her. Someone could have, anyway. And that might have meant another warrior to help fight against the invading Saiyans. Or against Freezia. Or against Garlic Junior. Ultimately, perhaps one more young fighter wouldn't have made a lot of difference on those battlefields. But maybe... If there were any more of these kids...

That was the problem.

Currently there was, as far as Piccolo knew, only one other child on the Earth that could be called a warrior. And of course they'd had to practically fly past his home just the other day. And there was absolutely no way to convince Gohan to leave now. Because he'd seen the girl and he'd seen her flying. He could sense her energy. And his basic reaction had been along the lines of: _Wow, there's another kid that can do these things!_ Only magnified about a thousand times. Gohan had always projected immense amounts of power. He'd been born with elevated power levels. He was more than fast. He was beyond strong. Even when stressed or sad or angry, Gohan could project ridiculous amounts of ki. But when estastic and full of relief... Ridiculous was an understatement.

Piccolo had wanted to continue following the girl at a distance. But Gohan wanted to meet her.

The self-proclaimed demon had no clue how to even begin to answer any of the demi-saiyans questions. Not that he'd been given much chance. Gohan had rushed to some conclusions. Because Gohan had been born and raised in partial isolation. For the first four years of his life, Gohan had only really known his parents and his maternal grandfather. So the fact that there was another child... Gohan just assumed that she must have been kept a secret, too. And he assumed that she had parents. And Gohan assumed that he knew who one of those parents was. And he was so excited, to think that another warrior of Earth had a family. That it wasn't just all adults. There was someone for him to train with and play with and relate to. Someone who would understand!

Was it worth trying to explain everything? Gohan might be disappointed. That could be hazardous. Hrm. Maybe it would be better to avoid correcting the boys assumptions for now. There wasn't much that Piccolo could explain yet. He didn't have a lot of answers. He wasn't sure if the girl did, either. They'd tried talking with her but she hardly ever let them get close enough for conversation and so far, she wasn't talking back.

The blurs ripped passed him for around the sixteenth time. They'd been pulling in, circling closer. Piccolo did his best to seem like someone who was not expecting the attack. The girl wasn't strong enough to be a serious concern to his welfare but... She was bound to try it again, wasn't she? As if on cue, the pale green blur appeared to one side. Far away but covering the distance swiftly. Low to the ground and heading directly for Piccolo. He waited. Less than a yard away from his ankles, the girl made an exceedingly sharp turn. The orange blur that was racing along at shoulder height right behind her, didn't.

Reaching out to grab Gohan would have been dangerous. Because reaching out to grab Gohan meant - if anyone could even manage to get ahold of him - getting dragged through at least five trees at full speed before the demi-saiyan paused to notice. No, there wasn't much that Piccolo could do to stop the boy without fully powering up. Besides, just stepping out of the way was safer.

Piccolo stepped to one side. The orange blur tore past him. Gohan was laughing as he swerved. He pulled up and changed course. The chase had apparently become some sort of game to him. Off in the distance among the trees, the pale green light flickered and faded. The girl was powering down again. She was trying to hide. She'd given up on trying to blind them, anyway. Being able to use taiyouken hadn't helped her. They'd just followed her energy. Powering down wasn't going to help her, either. Her energy left a trail. All energy did. The emotions she'd been projecting still hung in the air. The breeze still carried some taint of color. And she'd been flying so close to the ground that she'd just about cleared a path, everywhere that she went. She hadn't gone through trees or anything but... There were no leaves left on the ground, where she had been. Definitely an amateur mistake.

However it showed a measure of discipline that she'd been able to survive flying so close to the ground. Especially in a forest. Plus she'd been able to endure fleeing from Gohans attempts at friendship for the better part of a day and a half. Piccolo couldn't help but notice. This was why he hadn't bothered to attack. He didn't exactly respect the girl but... The girl wasn't a threat. She had some interesting skills but why attack something that wasn't a threat? It would be a waste of energy.

Also, attacking any creature that Gohan wanted to befriend was probably not a wise decision. Gohan tended to be protective of his friends. Even friends that he hadn't made yet.

The patter of approaching footsteps. Piccolo twitched an ear. The girl was somewhere behind him now, she was running. She was trying not to be so visible. And she would probably also try...

A thin stream of energy lanced past him. Piccolo studied the attack as it went past and was nearly impressed. The girl was getting better at this. It was a pitiful blast but she'd changed the color of her energy to dark purple. And she'd launched the attack at about the right height, the right angle...

No, she hadn't actually aimed AT him. Not yet. Maybe the girl was just trying to scare him? Or provoke him into attacking? What seemed more likely was that she wanted to provoke Gohan. She was trying to make her attacks look like something that Piccolo had done. Piccolo was aware of this. It was annoying, in a strangely harmless way. She was trying to start a fight between them? Just so that she could slip off unnoticed? Piccolo shook his head. He was almost tempted to turn around and kick the kid. It wouldn't have been hard, to defeat or capture her.

But his goal was to figure out who she belonged to. And this wasn't something that he wanted to be told, it was something he wanted to see for himself. He'd been patiently tracking the girl for a week. Piccolo wanted answers. His uncle hadn't been willing to offer him any answers and the other defenders of Earth couldn't. So Piccolo was actually more tempted to just pretend that the girls plan had worked. Because if the girl tried to leave, that was fine. She'd become easy to follow again.

It seemed like a good idea.

Piccolo felt his frown deepen. Telepathy didn't seem to be working. He'd tried to invite Gohan to attack - so that the girl would think that her plan had worked - but couldn't. There was...a block? Maybe Gohan was too estatic to be receptive. Or maybe the girl... Her energy wasn't, in Piccolos opinion, all that strong but there was a strange texture to it. A sensation that he wasn't sure how to define. Was she interferring? _How?_ She had taken off again, blurring away. Fleeing. Still terrified. Gohan had detected her and was in pursuit once more. So how could she be messing up Piccolos telepathy if her focus was on escape? Was she a psychic of some sort? Did interferring with mindspeak require so little effort from her? Was this why Chaozu had been willing to destroy the kid?

The pale green blur reached a horizon without turning. The bright orange blur lit the sky. Piccolo followed them.

**ooxoo**

**T**here was only one mature plam tree on Kame Island and it had been replanted recently. Kuririn had noticed. He was inspecting the place now. Walking around the outside of the house. Looking to see if any repairs would be needed. Whatever had happened, there didn't seem to be much damage. No scuffs on the walls or cracks in the foundation. The roof hadn't lost any shingles. The chimney was intact. The sand was warm and damp but nothing about that seemed overly abnormal - it was a tropical island. The beach wasn't even charred.

Kuririn half closed his eyes. He was twenty-seven. He'd been living on Kame Island since the age of thirteen. There had been some extended absences due to death, training and space travel but for the most part this sturdy beach house had become his home. Kuririn knew that his housemates sometimes fought - usually over magazines - and that their sparring could create mild disturbances. He also knew them well enough to realize that something was off. There was an intense emotional charge in the air that couldn't have been created by one of their squabbles.

He stepped through the front door of the Kame House. Master Roshi and Oolong were both visible in the kitchen, putting away the groceries. Kuririn did the shopping for the household and they put the stuff away. Oolong had always insisted. Not just because it was fair that they all share in the housework but because, with these two, putting things away often turned into a sort of training exercise. Roshi would start it - he'd juggle a few cans and have them land in a neat row on a shelf. Then Oolong would snort, shake his head and not only juggle the groceries but change shape while doing so. The friendly competition would escalate from there and had - on many occasions - resulted in Kuririn needing to return to the grocery store. That's what usually happened.

Not today.

Oolong was standing on a kitchen counter, reaching up for the shelves and just putting things away. Master Roshi appeared to have taken a silent interest in the nutritional labels and was sorting the groceries by their expiration dates. The whole process was very calm and tidy. They'd already gotten all the perishables into the fridge.

The last time they'd been this way... Inwardly, Kuririn cringed. His long-term memory had improved lately. It had just taken a while, after the most recent reincarnation, for clarity to return. Mostly he was grateful but sometimes Kuririn wished that it hadn't all come back. His memories of Raditzs visit to Kame Island, for example, were anything but fond. The hostile warrior had shown up on Earth without any warning, ending a reunion of friends. Raditz had mauled Goku and kidnapped Gohan. Kuririn had tried to protect them and had been casually swatted through a wall for his concern. That had taken place two years ago and it was still an ugly wakeup call. Nearly everything that had happened since then had also been an ugly wakeup call. Raditz had only been the start of their struggles. Kuririn had never imagined that fighting and training - nevermind dying and being wished back - would become such a large part of his lifestyle. He'd battled against Vegeta and Nappa. He'd traveled through space and battled with Freezia. Most recently he'd helped to defeat Garlic Junior.

That had barely been a month ago. The world couldn't be endangered again, could it? Not already. The world hadn't even finished cleaning up from the last catastrophic assault.

_Can't even leave for groceries anymore... _Kuririn went into the kitchen, pulled a chair up to the counter and waited. He fidgeted with the hem of his shirt and wondered if he should change into his fighting uniform. Something had happened at Kame Island while he was gone. He didn't want to ask what had happened but he did want to know. Sooner or later, his friends were going to have to talk.

Today, it was sooner. They _were_ his friends. They understood Kuririns tendancy to worry.

Master Roshi seemed to emerge from a state of deep thought. He pushed the groceries aside and faced his student. A line of light flashed through the old mans dark sunglasses, as if to trace the path of a racing idea. "Tell me again, about that last fight..."

Kuririn did. He was getting tired of reciting this story for the sake of others but he understood the need. Most everyone else had been turned to zombies by the dark mist - so they hadn't taken part in the battle. They didn't remember. It was strange, to think that only a small group of people in the world could appreciate the truth of how many times the world had been saved. Kuririn started the story by explaining that he'd been swimming. Gohan had also been swimming. They'd avoided the mist by virtue of being underwater. Piccolo hadn't been turned into a zombie because he was spirit-bound to his uncle and Kami hadn't been turned into zombie because he'd been trapped in a jar and...

"Trapped in a jar? Like, a denshi jar?" Master Roshi interrupted.

"...yea..." Kuririn tensed. He had studied with and lived around Master Roshi for the past fourteen years so he was perfectly aware of who the old mans teacher had been. He'd read about Master Mutaito. He'd talked to Roshi and also to Korin about the ancient legendary master. Kuririn had never learned the infamous Mafuba, the Evil Seal attack. He'd never seen it done. But he'd heard of it. And he'd studied the concept. So Kuririn was now able to recognize a detail that he'd overlooked during the stress of battle.

Mafuba meant sealing an enemy into a special jar. A heavily enchanted jar that couldn't be escaped from the inside. Kami was a warrior. Kami knew magic. Mister Popo held similar qualifications. The guardian of Earth and his immortal assistant _should_ have been able to escape from anything less than a denshi jar on their own. The dark water mist hadn't turned Kami to a zombie - but maybe it hadn't been meant to. The sudden affects of the dark mist on the population of Earth must have caught Kami off guard, leaving him vulnerable to...

"Wait..." Kuririn placed his hands flat on the counter and leaned towards his sensei. He was bristling with anxious energy. "Garlic Junior couldn't have used the Mafuba! It would have killed him! That's how Mafuba works!"

And this was why Kuririn had no interest in learning the technique. He'd felt - and had then proven - that he could do better.

The principles of Mafuba had been very useful to Kuririn when he'd been developing his own attacks. Granted, Roshis contributions to the history of energy combat were powerful and amazing. Hankokubikkurisho, the Shock Wave and Kamehameha, the Divine Turtle Wave - those were Master Roshis legacy and the beams were worthy, practical attacks for any student of the Kame style. No argument there. But Master Mutaitos infamous attack was based on the notion that a warrior should be able to control and direct the flow of their energy, even after it was released. Mafuba was a guided attack. The energy had to be controlled, once the enemy was captured in the blast. The seal wouldn't work if the attack couldn't be guided into the denshi jar. _That_ knowledge had provided a unique and inspiring challenge.

Besides Goku had already begun working on ShinKamehameha, the Improved Divine Turtle Wave and ChouKamehameha, the Perfect Divine Turtle Wave. So Kuririn had wanted to develop something a bit more distinctive. Mafuba had given him a basis to work from. Kuririn was still proud of his ability to guide energy blasts. Accomplishing the feat had required a lot of training, some intensive study and a whole new level of self-awareness. Over the years he'd invented Tsuihikidan, the Following Wave and Kienzan, the Following Disc but his masterpiece was the devestating Scatter Shot technique. Even his fellow warriors had taken notice. Yamucha had been inspired to develop Soukidan, the Following Spheres and then Piccolo had developed the Scatter Bomb. Kuririn felt that all of these were improvements on the Mafuba simply because he didn't have to risk his life to use them. With Mafuba... Even if the blast missed its intended target, it required the warrior using the attack to surrender their soul for the seal. This flaw had become part of the mystery surrounding the legend. How could Master Mutaito have practiced and learned such a fatal blast?

How could Garlic Junior have...?

Master Roshi was absentmindedly rearranging the groceries on the counter. The pile in front of him continued to shrink since Oolong would reach down to take an armload of items before darting away. "Didn't you say before that this Garlic Junior, he was only attacking our world because he wanted to avenge his father?"

Kuririn blinked. "Well, yea. That's what he claimed..."

"And didn't you say that whatever had happened to his father, to Garlic Senior, it took place on Earth about three hundred years ago?" Master Roshi continued.

The connections clicked.

Piccolo Daimio had been reeking havoc on Earth for the first time three hundred years ago. Master Mutaito had died while sealing the demon into a denshi jar three hundred years ago. Kami had become the local god three hundred years ago. Master Roshi had been an active warrior and a much younger man, he'd been doing some extra training at Korins Tower three hundred years ago. Kuririn was aware of these stories but he'd always thought of them as separate. Because that was how they'd been presented to him before - the stories had been told separately. He hadn't thought about how they might be linked together.

Kuririn stared at Master Roshi. "Did YOU have to defeat Garlic Senior?" He did his best not to sound too incredulous.

Master Roshi saw no reason to act modest. He'd blown up the moon during a tournament once and that hadn't been so long ago, really. He still had some power. Even if his latest students had all become legends in their own right - that wasn't a new trend. He'd been training legends for decades before these kids had come along. "Of course! My teacher, Mutaito-sama, had already died to defend the world! I wasn't going to just stand by and let his sacrifice be in vain!" Roshi peered over his sunglasses. "Kami did most of the fighting but he needed some help. He was spirit-bound to Daimio back then and so the seal had taken a toll on him as well, he hadn't recovered. That's WHY Garlic Senior saw it as an opportunity."

"So Garlic Senior attacked right AFTER..." Kuririn hated to mention the name of Piccolos father. Kuririn had died once because of the ancient demon, that wasn't a great memory to have back either. He moved past it with a shudder and spoke the thoughts as they came. "So Garlic Senior must have seen enough of the Mafuba to learn it. And modify it. And teach a variation to his son."

Kuririn was unable to decide how to feel. He didn't like Garlic Junior. He really, truly and severely didn't like anyone who could decrease the world population by three or so billion lives within the space of a single day. Mass destruction was everything that Kuririn had fought to try and prevent. Not being able to prevent mass destruction had lately added a whole new layer of ugliness and bitterness to Kuririns outlook in general. But... Garlic Junior had been the descendant of a fellow martial artist. Someone else who had studied the Mafuba. Someone who had been enough of a genius to modify the seal and make it a safer attack for trained warriors to use. What if Garlic Senior hadn't really been so evil? Maybe he'd just been competitive. Maybe, if Garlic Senior had been allowed to remain on the Earth, he would have become another great legendary master. A peer to Kami, Korin and Roshi. _Wonder if I would have ended up training with him... _Kuririn begrudgingly afforded this idea some respect. It seemed repulsive to consider that the whole Garlic Junior scenario might have been avoided, if only the issues with Garlic Senior had been handled differently.

Oolong had been listening and now, as he put away the last of the groceries and shut the cupboards, he chimed in with a noticable degree of sarcasm. "_Gosh. _At least it only took them THREE HUNDRED YEARS to figure it out and come back to attack our world. Hmf. Isn't that just peachy? I, for one, feel SO much safer." The pig leapt down from the counter, dusted his hands off and frowned at Master Roshi. "Should we start expecting visits from anyone banished two hundred years ago? _Do tell. _"

Master Roshi smirked in spite of the situation. His sunglasses had slipped, he pushed them back up his nose and returned his attention to Kuririn. His tone was more cheerful and relaxed now though he spoke quickly. "Mutaito-sama, my mentor, had a family. There are living descendants and what happened three hundred years ago still upsets them. One of them came by today and tried to kill me."

"And failed." Oolong smirked and did a mock bow to the old man. "Clearly."

Kuririn stared at them with wide eyes and increasing bewilderment. He didn't know what to say, where to even begin. The idea that the legendary Master Mutaito had living relatives - that by itself could have caused him to fall off the chair in surprise.

"Yes. I defeated him." Master Roshi stood tall and proud for a moment before slipping to the more hunched posture that he'd become accustomed to in his retirement. The old master fiddled with the tips of his mustache, a dangerous gleam in his sunglasses and a hint of sadness lacing his voice. "Eh. It wasn't difficult. Don't think the kid will try again but we'll have to wait and see." Master Roshis fidgeting increased. He reached for his cane and then for a magazine. He hid his expression behind its pages, reading while he ambled out of the kitchen. He didn't like to think about the next part. It made him uncomfortable. "And... Ah... My attacker did mention... That he'd already killed my rival. You remember the Crane Master? Tsuru-sennin? Well. He is dead now, allegedly. Might want to find out about that."

**ooxoo**

**"A**LIENS!"

Piccolo watched a clod of dirt bounce off his energy shield. He wasn't really worried about the group in front of him. He was worried about Gohan. Physically, Gohan was completely all right. But the boys mood had changed. Piccolo couldn't be certain of what the boys current mood was and that made him nervous.

Gohan was six years old. He hung in the air, staring down. He'd traveled to different planets and had fought powerful warriors. He'd witnessed death and come close to dying more than once. Gohan wasn't easily frightened. He just... Seemed to crave approval. The boy was too much like his father, who had attempted to make friends with pretty much everybody. Even people trying to murder him.

The group below was probably not capable of murder, Piccolo decided. He wished that he could be certain. There were around thirty scruffy little humans. Children. On an ordinary day, he wouldn't have even given them a second thought. They didn't project enough energy to be serious threats. They looked hungry, dirty and tired. Some were hurt and some were crying. Some were crouching on the ground, as if they thought that wrapping their arms over their heads would save them from danger. Some were scrambling to run away. A few of them were angry, screaming threats and insults and accusations while they threw whatever they could get their hands on in his direction. And Gohans direction.

_Sticks and stones... _Piccolo sighed, watching a mixture of both bounce off his aura. It wasn't going to hurt them. But the name-calling...

"I am NOT an alien!" Gohan protested, landing as he spoke. Sounding indignant. Pulling his energy back, powering down. Trying to seem more normal, maybe. Wanting to believe that he could reason with the tiny angry mob. "I was born on this planet!"

The apparent leader of the group was a small boy. Maybe an inch or so taller than Gohan. The lad stood with one clenched fist and pointed at them with the other hand. He clearly couldn't detect energy because he had the nerve to step closer until he was almost poking Gohan in the chest. His shrill voice was hoarse with anger. "Liar! You caused those dark clouds! YOU killed..."

Gohan flinched but didn't power up. "I DID NOT..." He took a breath and looked past the leader. He could see that the group was not in good shape. Gohan had survived on his own in the wild for a year. That had been, for the most part, his introduction to formal training. Gohan recognized that it was a struggle to adapt and he didn't feel that anyone else his age should ever be put through such struggles. He had crossed paths with a group of orphans in the wilderness once before - back during that initial training - and wondered if this group was the same one. Gohan hadn't known what to do for the wandering orphans, back then. He had some better ideas, now. He just wanted to help them. "How much food have you got?"

The leader of the group was clearly startled to hear a tone of concern from what he still considered to be an evil alien warrior.

"Look, I know a place where there's a lot of food and clean clothes and..." Gohan was speaking rapidly. He didn't want anyone to have the chance to argue with him.

At least the ragged children were listening to him. Piccolo frowned and stood back, willing to let Gohan deal with this. He scanned the small group. They'd followed the little triclops this far. Was she still here somewhere? Clever, to hide in a crowd. But it wouldn't work. Energy aside, her features were too distinctive. She had a long braid of indigo hair. She had three eyes. She had...

There was an expression in the crowd that abruptly caught Piccolos attention. Someone was scowling at him. The expression might have been a sneer except that proper sneering tended to require a nose. This face did not have a visible nose on it. This face belonged to someone with...ears that were a bit pointy... Piccolo stared. Two dark oval eyes scowled up and back at him. There was small person in the crowd that was outlined in faint energy. Very faint, not even powerful enough to project a color. Certainly not strong enough that Gohan had noticed it.

Piccolo couldn't take his gaze off the kid. _Pointy ears?! _This was not something that he'd been prepared to see.

He'd seen the little triclops but that kind of made sense. If she'd been constructed... Then she was based off someone else. One of the Earths elite defenders. That was all. So, if anything had been built based off Piccolo... Or based off of his uncle, because after all Kami had been the local guardian for three hundred years... Or based off of his father, Piccolo Daimio, who had also been a resident - albeit a trapped resident - of the planet for three hundred years prior to dying... Or based off of any Namek who had ever been on Earth and just lately, that was a large number since the entire surviving population of the Namekian world had been stranded on Earth for ten months directly after the battles with Freezia...

Piccolo gritted his teeth. He felt a headache coming on.

... Okay. So maybe the fact that a criminal organization somewhere on Earth had acquired samples of Namekian DNA made sense as well. All things considered, that wasn't too surprising. Upsetting but logical. However Piccolo had only followed the little triclops because he'd had questions about her origins. The way that Kami had been acting had given Piccolo a suspicion about what he might learn when he found the answers. Really, he'd been half expecting to eventually stumble across a man-made Namek. Which would have been strange and offensive enough. But a little human with pointy ears?!

And the no nose part, that was a warning. And the short dark hair - the front was just bangs but the back had some spikes - that should probably constitute a warning as well. And if _this _kid was also here... If the little triclops wasn't the only one... Then just how many others were there? How many of the kids in front of them... They really didn't seem like they had the energy but...

The criminals that had done this, whomever they were, were going to die. Painfully. Just as soon as Piccolo found them.

In the meantime... What to do with all these kids? Should they die as well? If these kids had been created or modified by criminals... If they had been trained as weapons... They were a liablity. None of them seemed dangerous right now but did that mean that they should be allowed to grow up and become something dangerous? And there were so many of them!

Piccolo mentally acknowledged that Gohan was not going to like this idea. Kami might not like this idea either. Piccolo didn't care. He found the thought of little humans with Namekian traits to be highly offensive. He made the mistake of taking half a step backwards. Intending to power up, to push the other kids away. Expecting that he'd probably have to deal with Gohan first. Knock the boy out, get the work done and then explain later.

A silver line of movement traced the path of a large axe. It very nearly collided with Piccolos neck.

The trouble with Gohan tagging along was that a certain someone else tended to show up as well. The lady didn't have her sons speed and couldn't match his power but when angry, she had the determination to make up for it. She must have been following them. "KIDNAPPER!"

Gohan paused in mid-negotiation, tensing slightly. He recognized that Piccolo had nearly attacked and he didn't understand the reasons. He also recognized the energy signature wielding the axe, which he did understand. "...Mom?"

And somewhere in the crowd, a small person sniffled. A random child. One of the ordinary looking ones. Sounding on the verge of tears. The lady froze then blurred away, her axe content to hang in the air for a moment without her. "Aw sweetie, what's wrong?" The lady was suddenly kneeling by the unfamiliar child, radiating gentle comfort. She was neat and tidy and smiling. She seemed to have an endless supply of tissues in her apron pockets. The lady hummed a soothing tune as she wiped the childs face clean.

Once this had been accomplished, the genuinely miserable kid sniffled again. "...m-my Mama is d-d-dead..."

The lady twitched. She blurred back to her axe and resumed swinging it in a lethal fashion. Projecting her outrage. The blade was bigger than she was. "MURDERER!"

Piccolo had to dodge.

**ooxoo**


	20. Name: November 11th, 763 AD

_**Eclipse**_

**by DoraMouse**

**Authors Note: **Rest in peace, Mr. Leslie Nielsen. Comedian. Thanks for the laughs and also for...

**ooxoo**

**Name: November 11th, 763 A.D.**

**"S**hirley?!"

Proto7A was a genetic creation of the Red Ribbon Army. She'd never had a name, as such, but people had always called her things. At Red Ribbon, many of the scientists had called her a demon child. She'd never thought to ask why. She'd just assumed that it was because she had, in the course of her life, destroyed so many android prototypes. She was the eldest of the genetic children. She hadn't always been. Other children had died in the labs - medical complications had claimed at least one and sparring with androids had claimed three others. Proto7A had become the eldest by surviving the longest. She was nine years old.

She sat on the ground, her back leaning against a rock in the wilderness. Flicking at dead leaves with her fingertips. Trying to see how long she could keep each leaf airborne. Most of them fell apart after a couple flicks.

"... Do you really like that name? Do you want to be called Shirley now, not Seven?"

Proto7A had escaped from Red Ribbon nearly half a year ago and had crossed paths with all sorts of people since then. At first it had been adults, mostly. Cheerful adults who didn't wear labcoats and who, apparently, didn't live underground. And the adults had laughed when she truthfully informed them that her name was Proto7A. They had called her other things, most of which didn't sound like names - honey, cutie, princess, poor thing, missing child, sweetheart, darling... That had been frequent._ "Don't you worry, little darling," _so many of the adults had reassured her,_ "we'll track your parents down and have you home safe in no time!" _Proto7A had patiently tried to explain that she didn't want to go home. She had tried to make them understand that home, in her mind, was a single cement room with no windows and one door that lead out into the labratory. The adults had laughed again, often while remarking that she had a vivid imagination. Sometimes they'd even scolded her for telling stories.

Then the dark clouds had come.

Proto7A didn't remember the dark clouds. She wasn't sure what had happened to her. Her mind drew a blank. One moment, she'd been in the care of yet another cheerful adult promising to locate her family. The next moment, she'd been standing on a sidewalk in an cityscape made unfamiliar by the sheer amount of recent carnage. Staring at the wreckage of a few dozen flaming car accidents and other assorted horrors. There was an irreversible gap between those moments.

After that, the adults were hurt and busy and no longer as cheerful. They'd still tried to take her aside, get her cleaned up and send her to the temporary shelters. They'd still asked for her name but instead of laughing when she told them the truth, the adults had checked to see if she had a head injury. At the shelters, the adults in charge had taken one look at her face and had decided that she was part animal. Not human but humanoid. These adults had called her things like Bunny, Kitten, Pixie and Fae. Which did sound more like names, Proto7A had to admit.

It had been at the temporary shelters that she'd begun encountering the other children. Because all the children that had been found wandering the city on their own were being held and cared for in the same place. Most of the kids had been resigned to waiting for an adult relative to come and claim them but some had decided not to wait. The children at the shelter had vastly outnumbered their caregivers, so for a few of the kids to slip out unnoticed hadn't been too challenging. Proto7A had gone with them.

She hadn't intended to draw attention to herself. She'd just wanted to blend in, to listen and learn about the world from these kids. But while she had walked with the group, she had also helped them. The group had grown. They'd found other kids. Being kids themselves, they'd known where to look. Most had been hiding in small enclosed spaces - closets and basements and so forth. They'd been scared to come out around adults that they didn't know but they'd come out for the wandering children. Most of the time Proto7A had just listened and watched as the leader coaxed them into the open. However not all of the kids had been found in places that they could get out of. Proto7A had rescued those children from collapsed buildings and crumpled vehicles. She had often carried the ones that were tired or hurt until they'd recovered enough to walk by themselves. She had ripped up cloth and paper and anything else that she could find that would be able to serve as bandages. She had stolen supplies and had practiced some basic first aid. The group wouldn't have been able to walk out of the city without her. Proto7A knew how to deal with kids that were tired and hurt. Because she hadn't been the only genetic creation of the Red Ribbon Army. There had been others, all destined to spar with android prototypes. And the genetics had all shared the same cement room, so they'd learned to deal with each other. Someone had always been tired and hurt.

The name had been an accident. The wandering children, in awe of her abilities and unshakeable demeanor, had finally asked what her name was. For some reason, the truth that she'd so easily told all the adults had gotten stuck in her throat. Proto7A didn't know why but she'd felt a certain pressure to conform. So she'd told these children - these peers - that she wasn't _sure_ what her name was. They'd misheard her. So now her name was Shirley.

Why not? Why shouldn't she have a better name? Proto7A or even Seven - those sounded like android names! Red Ribbon built androids. Shirley didn't belong to Red Ribbon anymore.

"It just doesn't sound..." Ranshin struggled to find the words. "..like YOU. It's not... tough!"

"Then call me big sister. Like you always used to." Shirley gave up on flicking leaves and let her gaze settle on a specific direction.

The wandering children had been taken in by the lady with the axe. Shirley hoped that they were okay. She had been tempted to try and defend the group but... She could detect energy. There had been a tall green warrior. There had been a boy that could fly and glow orange. They had astonishing amounts of energy. Shirley had decided that it would be safer not to provoke them. Besides, they'd been chasing someone familiar.

Shirley didn't consider many creatures on Earth to be family. Much as she had come to care for the wandering children, her genetic siblings came first. It was a habit, a priority, a duty. As the eldest and the strongest, she had always felt responsible for the other genetics.

It had been a close thing, being the strongest. Proto5A had been the strongest once. He'd been doing so well, holding his own against an activated android prototype. Then he'd grown a tail. A long furry tail. Right in the midst of the battle. And the android prototype had seen the tail and had grabbed it. So Proto5A had been killed. The android prototype had tortured him to death and had then been renamed, Android 10. Red Ribbon scientists had been so proud of their new android that they'd even preserved the boys corpse. Proto5As bloody remains had been kept for future study, as an example of what Red Ribbon thought that androids should be able to do. The other genetic children had taken their loss in stride. They hadn't known how else to behave. No one had informed them of their right to feel grief. Proto5As death was a lesson, a warning and nothing more. Shirley had become the strongest. Androids 11 and 12 had each won their respective sparring sessions in the same year. Two more genetic children had died. Shirley had become the eldest.

While the lady with the axe and the glowing boy had been herding the wandering children into a vehicle promising to get them all fed, cleaned up and sent home... Shirley had stayed with the group. She'd gotten into the car. She'd whispered some quick farewells and told the other children not to worry. She'd waited until the green warrior was gone, the glowing boy was flying ahead and the vehicle was moving before rolling out of it and running off.

She'd promised to get back to the group, eventually. She hoped that she would be able to track them down. Shirley didn't know where the wandering children would be taken - all she had was a direction. Although, if the glowing boy stayed around the group... Then finding his energy would lead her back to her new friends. She was anxious to be going.

"Can you get up yet?"

Half a year ago... The Red Ribbon Army had wanted to set a trap for the warriors of Earths Special Forces. The remaining genetic children had been used as bait. Four girls. One boy. They'd been dressed in red and black school uniforms and taken to a building with a scenic viewpoint. None of them had seen the outside world before. They'd been told to power up. They'd been told to stay out of the way. Android 10, the same one who'd killed their brother, had pointed a weapon at them. Shirley had acted in self-defense. She had lead the rebellion. Proto9A, the only surviving male and the next strongest, had not hesitated to join the assault. Proto4A, 2A and 6A... They had all escaped. They'd split up, knowing that they would be pursued. Wanting to make it harder for the androids to follow them.

Shirley could detect energy. It was a skill that she had taught herself. Despite this, she hadn't been able to find any of the genetic siblings that she'd escaped with. She'd tried. Shirley knew what to look for but she'd never really had to look for them before. Her genetic siblings had never been this far apart before. Back at Red Ribbon the genetics had all shared a room. They'd all lived together in the underground tunnels of the lab. Even without energy detection, there had only been so many places to look. Finding them... It was more difficult, out in the world.

Of all the genetic siblings to find... It would HAVE to be this one.

"I _said_ can you get up yet?" Shirley repeated. No, her name didn't sound very tough. But she was still tough, she thought. So maybe she'd be able to change that. Maybe by still being tough, she could make her new name sound tougher.

"No." Ranshin was laying on flat on her back on the ground, an arm draped over her eyes. Covered in makeshift bandages. Too exhausted to move. The chase had taken a lot out of her. She was grateful to be alive and happy to have been found by one her sisters but... There had always been a degree of discomfort between herself and the eldest. Proto7A... _Shirley... _Ranshin corrected herself, with a wince. Shirley was the powerhouse of the genetic children. The youngest genetic child - Proto6A, they hadn't been made in numerical order - had been the swiftest in the labs but Proto7A had been tearing up androids for a full five years before Ranshins creation.

Before Ranshins creation... Proto7A had been the favorite of the Crane Master. He'd trained her. He'd trained all of the genetics a little bit. That was what the Red Ribbon Army had employed him to do. And Proto7A had been the first favorite. The Crane Master had lectured the others and had given them exercises but he'd taught Proto7A some slightly more advanced techniques. He hadn't taught her how to fly. Red Ribbon hadn't wanted the Crane Master to teach any of the genetics about flying. Why should they need flying, if they were going to spend their whole lives underground? Then Ranshin had come along... And the Crane Master suddenly had a new favorite. One that he promptly taught to fly, in spite of protests from Red Ribbon.

_He liked you more. _Shirley didn't have to say it. She'd lived it. She'd gone from being the favorite student to being just another test subject. All the attacks that she'd been learning and working on, all the plans that her teacher had made for her - it had been forgotten in the wake of a genetic accident. Red Ribbon had created a triclops.

Ranshin winced again, aware of the thought. It was true. She'd seen it happen. She'd lived it as well but from the other end. The Crane Master had named her and taught her to read and taught her to fly and... She'd always felt bad, for replacing her sister in this way. But it wasn't as if she had asked for all the extra attention. No, it had just been given to her. And she couldn't regret that. Ranshin knew that she had survived her time wih Red Ribbon because of that attention. And she hadn't escaped from Red Ribbon with the other children, she'd escaped before them. She'd been taken out on a mission with the Crane Master and had just never made it back to the labs.

But she'd done her best to take care of her siblings, while she was with them. Ranshin had shown the other genetics how to fly. Not the youngest because Proto6A had felt that flying would actually slow her down. And not the eldest because Proto7A had still been too angry at the Crane Master to want to learn one of his techniques.

The little triclops hadn't worked up the courage yet, to mention that the Crane Master was dead. She didn't know how her big sister would react to the news.

"Want to be carried?" Shirley asked, twitching her ears and feeling impatient. She wanted to get back to the no-longer-wandering children. She hadn't expected to be away from the group for this much time. And she wasn't about to leave without her sister. Issues of duty and responsibilty aside - they were rivals. Shirley could detect energy. She understood that Ranshin had increased in power and she wanted to know how. She hadn't asked yet. Between Ranshin being sick and sleeping, the sisters hadn't talked much.

"No."

Images flickered in Ranshins head. She'd spent a day or so throwing up because of them. She still felt queasy. That glowing orange boy - as Shirley described him - the level of energy that the glowing boy had, that alone could inspire terror. That alone would have been a perfectly valid reason to flee. But the contents of his brain... Ranshin shuddered and tried to calm her heartrate. The glowing boy did not guard his thoughts or memories very well. He was a warrior. Ranshin had seen him before, on a television screen. She'd seen that fight against the invading aliens. But... Watching something on a television screen and watching it as if it was happening right in front of you... It was different. It was terrible. And there had been other battles, fights that hadn't been televised apparently. And so Ranshin didn't understand more than a fraction of what she'd experienced. But all of the memories had emotions attached to them. Terror had been the prevailing mood.

The fact that the glowing orange boy - Ranshin had witnessed enough of his mind to know that his name was Gohan - the fact that HE could feel terror was a revelation. But it wasn't a revelation that she chose to dwell on at the moment.

Honestly, Ranshin was just amazed that she hadn't fainted or gone into a trance around the other warriors. She was amazed that she'd been able to think well enough to flee. She didn't know where she'd even found the strength or the endurance, nevermind the coherance...

Maybe the pale psychic warrior that she'd sparred with a while ago - maybe he'd done something to her. Because ghosts hadn't been bothering her as much, lately. Or maybe the tall green warrior had done something. He'd followed her for nearly a week after that fight. Ranshin had been aware of him and had been cautious yet she hadn't ever felt too threatened. She hadn't been able to read his mind or sense his energy very clearly. She'd avoided the tall green warrior but she'd still been able to make time for eating and sleeping and other such necessary functions. Then the glowing boy had shown up and the chase had begun. Ranshin was just glad the chase was over now.

Shirley stood, stretched and came over. She crouched down and poked at Ranshins makeshift bandages. She wasn't being as gentle as she would have been with one of her other genetic siblings but her motives were not in doubt. She'd been patient. She'd found water and had kept her injured little sister alive. She was getting frustrated because she didn't understand the need for isolation. She wasn't psychic. "I'm running out of things to make bandages from. Why not let me take you back to-"

"NO!"

Ranshin coughed. Even speaking was painful, at the moment. She'd been so desperate to get the glowing boys awful memories out of her mind that... Her clothing and skin... Her long braid of dark blue hair... Ranshin was charred. She looked like someone who'd been pulled out of a fire. And rightfully so - she had burned herself with her own aura while trying to get away.

In all her life, all her training... She'd never summoned so much energy before. Ranshin didn't understand how she'd managed the feat while fleeing.

She didn't know if it was something that she could do again. She wasn't eager to experiment.

A noseless scowl was throwing its weight around. Shirley was excellent at seeming calm while projecting anger. She had a certain intensity even when standing still. When she looked at people, they could feel it. She had a glare that could make androids hesitate. That was part of how she'd survived for so long.

"Three..." Shirley began and then paused, the slant of her ears signaling disapproval. She knew her sisters name but it was a name that the Crane Master had picked. The Crane Master hadn't ever given Shirley a name and so it kind of hurt, that he'd named her sister. _Why wasn't I good enough for a name from him? _Shirley shook her head as if to push the thought away. She'd never felt entitled to ask questions as Proto7A. She'd been grateful just to exist, asking questions would have put that at risk. But being out in the world had started to change her. These days, the questions were never far from her mind. "Ranshin..." Shirley amended, still hating to say it after all these years but using a diplomatic tone of voice. She reached down and picked her sister up. "We need to leave. You're five years old now. You have to think of others. I'm hungry even if you aren't. Clean clothes would do us both good and it might be nice, not to sleep on the ground for a change."

_I'm...five...? _Ranshin squirmed. She wasn't comfortable with being carried and she wasn't sure how to feel about being older. So much had changed, in the past year.

Ranshin thought about her siblings. Birthdays had always been a solemn occasion for the genetic children. They'd hadn't, technically, been born but they'd kept track of each others ages anyway. They'd never known how many days they would each live to see. If Ranshin was age five then Shirley was age nine and Proto6A was age three and Proto4A... Ranshin sniffed, she'd liked Proto4A. But Proto4A was dead now. Ranshin had seen that ghost, months ago. Ranshin wondered if Shirley knew about their sisters death. She wondered if Shirley was the only other survivor.

**ooxoo**

_**A**__nother dramatic rescue, courtesy of Mister Hercule Satan! _Claimed the headline of the newspaper. Hercule had always been a favorite subject for them. He was a celebrity. He was also the descendant of a long line of celebrities. Satan City was named after them and so the news reporters had felt compelled to keep tabs on the family. It had been rewarding, there was always something to report. Nearly all of Hercules ancestors had gone on to greatness in some capacity. There had been pioneering lawyers, pioneering actors, great composers, classical writers, inventors that had redesigned the tools of science and doctors who had redefined the potential of medicine...

Hercule was a martial artist. A man in his early thirties, clad in a bright red fighting uniform. Tall and lean and muscular with bushy eyebrows, a head of ebony curls and a thick handlebar mustache. He had always loved to have reporters at his training sessions. He had trained like a fiend and claimed to be able to lift a city bus. He had done some stunt work in movies. He had planned to really make a name for himself, to make his accomplishments more widely known. To put his own reputation on par with his ancestors. There had been great expectations and so he'd set his ambitions high. Hercule had been telling the media for years that someday, he would win the most respected fighting tournament on the planet: the Tenkaichi Budoukai. He wanted to be the next Champion of the Earth.

But in light of recent happenings... The tournaments were all still canceled indefinitely. The 24th Tenkaichi Budoukai might never take place. So for the foreseeable future, Hercule no longer had the option to pursue his dream.

What could he do with himself, instead?

Lately the front page photos of the Satan City newspapers had shown Hercule doing the work that so many other people were also doing. That's what made it a good subject to cover, the reporters thought, people could relate. Plus Hercule was a celebrity - so that created interest - and the man had a knack for speaking. When he cleaned up the city or talked about rebuilding, it wasn't just a feel-good story anymore. People got motivated. Things got done.

In todays front page photo, Hercule was holding up a little girl. She was battered but smiling. Wrapped in a blanket, clutching a teddy bear and a water bottle. She had been found, the newspapers said, in a place where no child should be. The media had no idea how any child could survive the circumstances that she apparently had. A building had collapsed and this little girl had to run away to avoid being crushed. Unfortunately the building had set off a domino effect in the surrounding rubble. By her own accounts, the little girl had run away from one falling structure and into the shadow of another. She'd corrected her path and had tried to outrun the destruction.

She'd been speedy enough to nearly make it.

The reporters had kindly asked the little girl for her name. She had told them a number. Maybe it was her age? She was young and could certainly, the newspapers decided, be confused.

"Call her Videl, for now." Mr. Satan had laughed, trying not to look like someone with dollar signs floating over his head. He liked this strange child. He liked the media attention as well. If nobody claimed the girl then maybe he could adopt and... That would be enough to keep the medias interest for a while, right? Sure! It would be a great story! He'd take care of the kid and she'd grow up on camera. They could do commercials and interviews together. He could train her. He wouldn't get to be champion of the world right away but at least he'd solidify his position as a hero. And it would open up a whole new market to him, he could start endorsing childrens products.

He wasn't a total businessman. Hercule did have other reasons. He'd pulled the little girl out of a pile of cement, wires and broken glass. He was a bit worried about her and doubted that her relatives - if they'd been anywhere near her when the buildings had come down - could have survived. It was sad. Tragic, even. What kind of future did this poor child have? Everything that had happened... It didn't seem fair, it wasn't her fault. He could at least fix the situation for her. It was maybe one of the only things that he could fix. Hercule did feel willing and able to provide the kid with a good future. And his girlfriend was always bugging him to show more commitment to their relationship. Adopting a kid - that had to be a step in the right direction, didn't it? Nothing said 'commitment' like becoming a parent, right?

None of the reporters had asked: "what does Videl mean?" They were residents of Satan City, they knew. There was already one Videl Satan in the local history books and she was an ancestor of Hercules. One of the few that he liked. Mr. Satan hadn't planned on becoming a parent right away but he had always been partial to the name. He'd thought that if he did ever have a daughter, he would want to honor his ancestor by reusing the name. For now, Videl would make a good name for this poor confused child. Just until she remembered her real name. Just until her relatives - in case any had survived - claimed her. Just so that the media would have something to print.

Proto6A stared at the person who had rescued her. She'd been avoiding people for the past several months, too frightened to approach anyone. She'd stolen what she needed to survive. Her speed had allowed her to get away with it. But this man... Had caught her, had saved her, had pulled a building off of her. He didn't seem too scary. And he wanted to give her things - he'd already given her a teddy bear and a blanket and a bottle of water. Now he was giving her a name. She repeated it in her mind a few times. _Videl. _It had a nice sound.

The Red Ribbon Army had created a group of genetic prototype children. They'd needed more than one for their experiments. Due to the unstable nature of the DNA being combined, most of the resulting genetics had quirks. Abnormalities. Proto7A was a tall girl with pointy ears and no nose. Proto3A was a female triclops with blue hair. Proto5A had grown a tail shortly before his death. Proto9A had a tail as well - but his had not grown in during a battle and the fur had been white. Proto4A was a girl with long curly hair which had hid, to anyone not looking for them, her antenna. Proto2A might have been able to pass for a regular human, if she hadn't been so utterly fascinated with sharp objects.

Proto6A was aware of this. She knew that she was probably the most normal genetic child, in appearance. Red Ribbon scientists had told her so. She was also the youngest, the most recent creation. And this was where her quirk came in. The DNA that she'd been created with... The scientists had tried something new, they'd given a treatment to the DNA samples before using the material to build her. Proto6A had become the quickest child in more than one sense of the word. She had grown at an accelerated rate. Her genetic siblings had kept track of her age and had told her that she was three. Adults in Red Ribbon had told her that she was six and that the growth spurts should start wearing off soon. There were side effects, though.

She'd been trapped under a building. She was already healing.

**ooxoo**

**P**uar hovered. Looking down. She was floating a few inches above her best friends head. He wasn't in a good mood.

None of them were.

Yamucha stood in a mildly defensive posture. He didn't usually lean against walls or cross his arms this way unless he was deeply troubled. It was as if he was trying not to punch anyone. His voice was laced with more than anger. "You couldn't have just taken a picture..."

"We found the bodies." Chaozu said softly. He was standing on the ground - for a person who usually hovered, this was a mark of being upset. The pale warrior didn't remember the dark mist but he DID remember what he'd seen right before the dark mist. There had been two children, out in the night sky. Flying over the remote mountains. Chaozu had seen their auras but hadn't recognized them. He'd been curious. He had also been willing to just watch them go past overhead because their energy wasn't too scary. But then the mist... And then the search for Tenshinhan and the lawsuit against Red Ribbon and the psychic sparring with the small female triclops... With so much else on his mind, it had taken the better part of a month for Chaozu to wonder about the two children that he'd seen. To wonder about what had happened to them. They'd been flying above the mountains when the mist had fallen so... Chaozu had searched the mountainside. And he'd found them.

Seeing the corpses was not pleasant. The winter weather of the mountains had preserved the bodies well. There was a boy with a furry white tail and a girl with a surprising number of knives. They looked exactly as people would, when turned into zombies in midair. Their bodies were twisted and broken from the fatal drop. Bone fragments protruding through the skin. Knives that had probably been concealed in clothing had ended up buried in flesh. The extent of their injuries made it clear that these children hadn't protected themselves while falling. Their expressions were disturbingly serene.

"Why not just BURY them?" Yamucha pushed away from the wall and walked out of the room. He intended to leave the building. It was his house. That's how upset and offended he was. Yamucha had strong opinions, when it came to the rights of children. He'd barely survived his own childhood so he felt that he was entitled to be protective of other kids. Even moreso, now that he was a baseball player. There were a lot of kids who followed the sport and looked up to him. He didn't want to be within a hundred miles of a childs corpse, not if he could help it.

"They're evidence." Tenshinhan understood. He didn't like seeing the bodies but he understood.

Chaozu wanted to have the corpses tested and searched. If there was any way at all to link these corpses to the Red Ribbon Army... A fingerprint or a strand of hair or a scrap of DNA... Chaozu would find it. Or hire someone who could. And that would allow him to add a whole range of new charges to the ongoing lawsuit. The case against Red Ribbon was already strong but more evidence could only help. This had not been an easy thing to decide. Chaozu came from a traditional culture. He truly respected the need for burial. However he also sincerely wanted to raise legal hell, to punish Red Ribbon. To not just let the matter die in silence. Burying the corpses would be like ignoring the crimes. And so the corpses had to be stored, for now. Because if they were buried then they'd be forgotten - or worse, someone else might just dig them up - and then there would be no evidence.

Puar understood. She'd been studying law as a sort of hobby. She watched her best friend leave the room but didn't follow him. She judged that Yamucha might be upset enough to forget his house key. Replacing the front door was an expense that she preferred to avoid. She twirled her tail, propelling herself across the room. Glancing down with concern.

"..." Kuririn understood. He hated to understand. He'd been raised to respect every living thing. It offended him, to know that children had been allowed to die like this. He was upset beyond words. Was it his fault, in some morbid way, for not preventing the dark mist? Had these strange kids died on impact or had they suffered for a while? It was horrible to even contemplate. It was hard to get beyond that. If Chaozu could raise legal hell for the criminals, great. But... Kuririn looked to the pale warrior. "You realize that if I find these people before your court gets done with them..." Kuririn didn't have to finish the statement.

"You are not the first to say that." Chaozu nodded. He had already put the corpses away. He'd capsulized them. He'd only brought them out because he had felt strongly that this was something that the others needed to see for themselves. "I understand."

"No." Kuririn hadn't blinked in a while. He did now. "I don't think you do. I mean... This is sick. And... What if it had been Gohan or any of us that was out flying around when..."

"We'd be dead." Tenshinhan said simply.

"If **I** find these people even AFTER the court gets done with them..." Muttered Yajirobe. The samurai stood back from the rest of the group. His posture was rigid, his harsh scowl more grumpy than usual. He understood, too. He just didn't trust the courts. People said that justice was blind but the artists had always had portrayed justice as carrying a sword. That was, in fact, the precise definition of justice that Yajirobe supported. He carried a sword for that reason - there were other reasons, as well - but that was definitely one of them.

The gathered warriors stared at him for a moment. It was rare to see intense feeling from the samurai. He was someone who had been raised to behead his enemies without showing much emotion.

Yajirobes defensive attitude increased under the collective stare. He ran a nervous hand through his dark hair while the other hand gripped and released the hilt of his katana. "Did you guys NOT notice the furry white tail on the dead boy? What the hell is that supposed to mean? Was the kid cloned from Goku or Korin? Are we talking part alien or part immortal now?" He pointed up to Puar. "Or part shapeshifter?!"

"Or all of the above." Kuririn flinched as he spoke the words. If criminals could get samples for clones from Goku or Korin then everyone was at risk. _What if..._ Nah. He'd been dead twice. Why would anyone...? Nah. It wouldn't make sense. He let the line of thought go.

"Wasn't another triclops, anyway." Tenshinhan observed.

This earned him three sets of bewildered stares.

"_Another _triclops?" Puar landed. She'd practically been born hovering so for her to land expressed volumes.

Chaozu tried to break the awkwardness of the moment. He forced a weak laugh. "Did we not mention that yet? We should. There's _at least_ one living child that may have been created by the Red Ribbon Army. It's a girl. She's a triclops."

"And she's _psychic_." Tenshinhan added, noticing that his friend had left this part out.

"... so THAT'S why Gohan thinks that you're a father..." Kuririn had made a point of keeping in touch with the Son family. He felt responsible for them, especially in the absence of his best friend. And he'd helped to train Gohan for a little while but... He couldn't think of the six year old as a student. Gohan was a warrior, not just an apprentice. Gohan had fought right alongside the adults for the past two years. Kuririn had witnessed more of those battles than anyone else. Hence, Gohan had become a good friend in his own right. Kuririn respected the kid. They talked often. So Kuririn had heard about this theory recently. Because Gohan had been very excited about it, the last time they'd spoken. Kuririn had been surprised to hear the news but it hadn't seemed impossible at the time. After all Kuririn hadn't been introduced to Gohan before the age of four, Goku had kept his son a secret for that many years. And if Goku, of all people, had been able to keep a secret like that then why not? As far Kuririn had known, maybe Tenshinhan was a parent.

Tenshinhan steepled his fingers and grimaced. The mere concept of being percieved as a parent was embarrassing for a former assassin. "... Tell him I'm not."

"What do you mean, AT LEAST?" Yajirobe had been busy helping to clean up and repair the cities of the world. He'd not spent much time at Korins Tower lately. He hadn't been there to witness the fight between Chaozu and a small, previously unknown, triclops. He hadn't been told about it, either. He lived around immortals. They were the types that wouldn't tell you something directly unless you asked - or unless the world was endangered. Maybe it was a good sign, that Yajirobe hadn't been told. Maybe the world wasn't endangered. Yet. "Are you implying that there could be MORE of these things?"

"There could be." Chaozu conceded.

Kuririn rubbed the back of his neck. Which part of the discussion was worse? The idea that there could be any number of child-clones based off the warriors of Earths Special Forces? Or the idea of correcting Gohan? The child-clones or whatever they were - what if there more of them? And what if they weren't all children, what if there were some adults? The memory of Maron and her uncanny resembalance to Bulma... The memory of Marons friend, who could pass for Yamuchas twin... Kuririn wished that these things had not crossed his mind.

He refocused on the problem of Gohan. How were you supposed tell a dangerous six year old that sometimes, other children didn't have natural parents? Even if Gohan accepted the idea... The discussion that could follow, the inevitable question of where babies came from... Kuririn shook his head, feeling a blush burn in his cheeks. He was modest. He would train and he would fight to defend the planet but he wasn't prepared to give the birds-and-bees lecture to anyone. Especially not anyone under the age of, say, fifteen. Extra especially not another persons child. That wasn't his place. "Ha. No way! YOU tell him."

Gohan hadn't been invited to this meeting. They'd had to tell the demi-saiyan about the meeting - because Gohan noticed, when all of their energies were in one place - but they'd informed the boy that they were only going to speak about boring adult things like whether or not being dead should be noted on income tax forms. So Gohan had stayed home. On the other side of the continent. A distance for which they were all currently grateful.

They also hadn't invited Piccolo. Even if they'd felt inclined to track down the elusive demon, it wouldn't have been practical. Yamuchas mansion was located in a city. Piccolo probably couldn't have arrived without scaring the locals half to death. And also... Piccolo was eleven. There were some things that had happened before his time.

Kuririn was wearing casual clothes - Gohan would have suspected something, if he'd come in his fighting gear - and also a backpack. He set the bag down, pulled out some books and scrolls. Most of them were ancient. This was his main reason for coming today. He hadn't expected all the rest. And he couldn't let the shock of it all prevent him from getting some help with his research. This was important, too. "We need to talk." Kuririn stopped and looked over at Puar, who was standing on the back of a chair with a distressed expression. "Uhm. If you could get Yamucha to come back please..."

The blue-grey cat wordlessly flicked her tail, took to the air and left the room.

Kuririn wasn't going to wait for everyone to begin. They'd get Yamucha caught up once he returned. Kuririn opened a scroll. It showed a family tree and had the name Mutaito on it. He opened a book. Its pages were crowded with long handwritten paragraphs, sketches of martial artists and complex diagrams with equations. "Someone tried to kill Master Roshi the other day." He said. "And Garlic Junior knew the Mafuba. And the Crane Master might be dead."

**ooxoo**

**H**e had failed.

Sensei Jitsugen knelt, his head bowed. It was painful to kneel. His left leg had been operated on less than a month ago. It had been a major surgery and it hadn't been the only operation that he'd needed. He'd been at his home when the black mist had fallen to Earth. He had left the dojo but hadn't gotten far. He'd walked into traffic, a zombie among zombies. Nobody had reacted. Nobody had stepped on the brakes or tried to miss him. He'd been hit. More than once.

If he wasn't such a valued agent of the World Government then there wouldn't have been any special effort to save him. His employers had kept him alive. They'd ensured his recovery. He'd been able to return to work for one last job. The World Government had such great faith in him. And these were people that he'd failed.

He'd also failed his ancestors. That was painful as well.

Sensei Jitsugen had been working for the government for years. Killing the Crane Master had been necessary to protect other agents of the World Government but it had also been an honor. Because killing the Crane Master had meant the opportunity to avenge the clan of Master Mutaito. It had been a difficult battle but Sensei Jitsugen had won. The Crane Master was dead. Sensei Jitsugen had ultimately been the better prepared for that fight. Which was no surprise, really. He'd been training for the battle for ages. He'd always known that he would get the call eventually. For the past year, he had known that the day was drawing nearer because he'd almost finished his contract. Sensei Jitsugen was due to retire from government work. He'd looked forward to becoming a regular full-time martial arts teacher. But he'd wanted to retire on a positive note and for him, that would have meant killing the Turtle Master as well.

Master Mutaito, his ancestor, had chosen an emblem to represent his school: a stylized tortise with a crane perched atop the shell, wings outstretched. From what Sensei Jitsugen understood - from what his family had taught him - his legendary ancestor had never intended for the schools to separate. The fact that Mutaitos students had failed to defend their sensei was monsterous. The fact that these students had lived for so long after their allowing their teachers death, it was offensive. But the fact that they'd broken the school into factions... It was unforgivable. An insult to everything their teacher had been. An insult to everyone in the Mutaito clan. The straw that broke the camels back, so to speak.

Motivated by his own recovery, his desire to have justice done before he retired and - it must be admitted - his need for the paycheck, Sensei Jitsugen had accepted the mission. He'd gone to confront the Turtle Master, the Kame-sennin. And the old man had defeated him.

How did someone over the age of three hundred retain so much power? It was insane! He'd been beaten up by an old man! And that wasn't even the worst of it - the old man had taken mercy on him. Had held back. Had left him alive. Had let him escape. It was disgraceful!

Sensei Jitsugen did not want to retire like this. He couldn't afford to retire like this. Pride and justice aside, the money was also a factor. His dojo needed repairs. If he couldn't rebuild then there would be nothing for his students to come back to. Retirement didn't make sense if the dojo couldn't be fixed. Sensei Jitsugen had, reluctantly but honestly, reported to his superiors. Had told them of his failure and of his situation. He was a valued agent. He could be trusted. The World Government had offered to extend his contract. They had offered him another mission. It was highly secretive. It was risky.

He had accepted it.

Dr. Gero circled this kneeling man thoughtfully. His labs had been reduced to a smoldering crater in the northern desert. Few of the people within the underground base had survived. Dr. Gero was one of the few. His paranoia and the reinforced construction of his private chambers had served him well.

The smoldering crater... It was a setback. But the Red Ribbon Army was more than two hundred years old, they had overcome setbacks before. And the Red Ribbon Army was an international organization. They had other places that could be converted into labs. They had other members that could be trained to build androids. Dr. Gero couldn't let a mere explosion keep him from his goals. He had a dream to achieve. It was going to happen whether anyone else liked it or not. Really, the most irritating part of the explosions was the loss of materials. The loss of records. The loss of progress. They'd had four new androids under construction. Only one had been salvagable from the ruins. So now it was time to start over.

They didn't have time to start over. Not properly. The World Government had kept strict deadlines in place for Red Ribbon. The World Government wanted to see progress on the planetary defense system, or else.

Ha. So the World Government was planning to shame Red Ribbon. Was planning to make them look like fools. Was planning to punish them for their failure. No one had told Dr. Gero this, he didn't have any evidence. He just assumed it to be the case. Because if Red Ribbon couldn't finish the androids and couldn't live up to all the hype then... Oh, but they _would_.

Dr. Gero and his associates had been offering quasi-illegal medical services to the population of the world for a long time. Implanting artifical limbs on to people who'd lost their originals. Replacing organic limbs with weapons. They'd been doing this for the better part of thirteen years. Dr. Gero had become the official Commander of the Army thirteen years ago. He was still the Commander, even though Red Ribbon was now known as a massive business - not an Army but an INC. And business had picked up recently. Ever since the dark mist, Red Ribbon had been doing an enormous amount of what they called cosmetic surgery on injured citizens. There was such a demand among the average population that the World Government had even chosen to declare the practice temporarily legal.

But androids... There was a shortcut. It was illegal. Well... Android prototypes were usually built from human or humanoid corpses. THAT had always been illegal. Murder and grave-robbing had always been crimes. The shortcut for androids was even more illegal. Because android prototypes could, in theory, be built from live creatures as well.

How glorious it would be, to meet the silly deadlines and shock the World Government. They'd be the foolish ones then. Red Ribbon would gain public sympathy and credibility. It would be a good position in their political games. It would give Red Ribbon more advantages in future negotiations. Maybe they would be able to demand a higher price. Or maybe they would just skip the negotiations and conquer the world. Why not? They would have some brand new androids to give orders to.

"...yes..." Dr. Gero was generally cautious and paranoid but he wasn't about to ask for references. He wasn't going to get a background check done on anyone that volunteered. Especially not anyone with a leg injury. Dr. Geros own legs were artificial ones, he had sympathy for the man kneeling here. The request had been unusual but it didn't seem too suspicious, with all that had been going on in the world. "...yes, I think it will work. You'll make a good android."

**ooxoo**


	21. Twist: November 12th, 763 AD

_**Eclipse**_

**by DoraMouse**

**ooxoo**

**Twist: November 12th, 763 A.D.**

**Y**amucha sat crosslegged on a cold metal bleacher. Wishing that the world wasn't such a mess. Baseball games were at least being scheduled now but it would still be a while, before the season resumed. The home stadium wasn't in any condition to host a game but the restoration was making progress. The bleachers were new. The field below had almost been cleared. So the games were being scheduled. But they would only happen if the team showed up. Or what was left of the team, at any rate. They'd lost some players. All of the teams on Earth had.

He'd attended the funerals. Had seen the grief of the surviving family members, the co-workers and the fans. Had stood in the crowd and felt badly out of place because... Because he'd died once. He knew what happened to spirits. It wasn't all bad. It just wasn't fair, either. That struck a chord. When Yamucha had died, he'd spent one month traveling in the afterlife and then five months training on King Kais world and then he'd been wished back to life.

His death... Was it a year ago, already? It still seemed more recent. That battle had been internationally televised. Hence, being reincarnated had been great but it had also been complicated. His employers had welcomed his return but in order to continue working, he'd had to get his own death certificate revoked. Yamucha had been back to life since early May. The legal battle to declare him officially alive again had taken until August. The mansion, the bank accounts... _Thank heaven for Puar. _Everything was in her name, now. Because there were still some kinks in the system - not everyone had gotten the memo. In spite of the media attention, there were still a few bitter people who tried to insist that Yamucha couldn't own anything because he was legally dead. He'd gotten love letters from fans and hate mail from critics, all in the same bag. It was amazing, it was sickening...

And it wasn't fair. Why should he be wished back to life if all these other people didn't have the same chance? There were so many other people.

Yamucha knew there was a possibility that Shenlong would be summoned to reverse all the deaths caused by the black water mist. Having this knowledge was about the only thing that had made attending the funerals bearable.

Unfortunately, when he'd spoken to the Earths local god about this issue, Kami had seemed reluctant. The guardian had his reasons and Yamucha had been informed of them. The dragonballs had been used a year ago. They could only be used once a year. In late December - next month - the artifacts would become available for use again. But if they used them right away... Did they dare? It was a risk. The dark mist had only taken one afternoon to cause planetwide destruction. Anything could happen, in the course of the coming year. It might be wise to save the wish for later, Kami had explained. In case. Which meant that all of the people killed by the dark mist, through no fault of their own, might just have to stay dead.

_They couldn't have been more than eight years old..._ Yamucha didn't care if the kids had been built by a criminal organization. That shouldn't automatically qualify them as criminals, right? They'd just been kids! Even if the kids HAD been criminals. He'd been a desert bandit once. He'd changed. Why not give them a chance?

They were beyond chances, now. The strange kids were dead. They might have to stay dead. It wasn't right. It wasn't fair. Yamucha understood but he didn't like it at all. He wished that he could forget the gruesome way their corpses looked.

Hands in his pockets and wind in his face, Yamucha flew home.

The main gathering room downstairs was a dimly lit mass of paper. It had become this way overnight. Scrolls and scraps. Books and notebooks. Stacked on the floor and spread out on the furniture. A technique that had apparently taken the warrior called Garlic Junior and his ancestor three hundred years to figure out was now being unraveled by the best technicians on Earth. It hadn't yet taken them a full day. Kuririn was sitting on the floor, a slightly chewed pencil behind his ear. He was thumbing through a heavy book and leaning an elbow on the cluttered coffee table. Tenshinhan was sitting in a chair on the other side of the table, hunched down and inking notes on a diagram. He'd taken off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. They were both intently focused on the task - an observation supported by the several half-empty teacups and takeout boxes abandoned in the layers of paper. Yamucha wasn't thrilled to see the mess.

"Ah..." Kuririn was the first to notice him. "Sorry. We'll clean up later."

Most of the books were, Yamucha knew, Master Roshis. One was Kuririns. The formulas and diagrams were descriptions of attacks. This was the academic side of being a pioneer in energy combat. When you invented a new attack, you documented it. That was how you created a legacy. Not just by developing and practicing the attacks but by being able to explain and record them. Kuririn had literally added a book to the history of the Kame school and he was only twenty-seven. He probably had a few more books left in him.

"Thanks." Yamucha lingered in the doorway and squinted at all the notes. He had invented some of his own attacks. Not all of them had been energy attacks but he'd done the paperwork. So he could look at the formulas and not instantly get a headache. But he'd never had to try and document an attack that had been invented by someone else. Yamucha was aware that Kuririn and Tenshinhan weren't just recording this new method for future reference. They were figuring it out for themselves. In order to get the new attack down on paper... They'd have to learn it.

It was a variation on the Mafuba. That was all Yamucha needed to know to make a decision. He walked away. Left them to their studies.

Yamucha left his shoes in the entry hall, put on some slippers, hung his coat on a peg and thought about getting something to drink. He was an adult. The idea of a beverage wasn't limited to what could traditionally be put in a teacup. But... He did consider his guests, anyway. Because Kuririn had been raised by monks. Tenshinhan was a maybe-not-so-former assassin. They had different reasons but they both strongly disapproved of anything that could even mildly impair a persons awareness. Not to mention...

It was early morning. Puar had left, hours ago. She'd gone with Chaozu. She was interested in law and he had a full schedule of appointments with lawyers. Kuririn and Tenshinhan had each come and gone a few times during the night. They'd left to gather more research materials or stepped out to experiment with energy blasts in desolate areas - always returning with stacks of notes in either case. Yamucha himself had been too restless to sleep after all of the most recent news, so he'd taken a few walks in the night air. Had done an impromptu patrol of the city. But there was someone else at the mansion, who hadn't left.

Prior to Yamuchas death, there had been a battle. And prior to that battle, there had been training. He'd spent eight months at Kamis Lookout. The other human members of the Earths Special Forces had been at the Lookout for training too. Yamucha had already known them from tournaments and adventures - but during the eight months, he'd gotten to know them better. The Lookout was in low Earth orbit. Yamucha had lived in a desert for most of his life. The difference of temperature between these locations was significant. Battles and exercises always created some heat but when the warriors were resting... He'd been cold. Just freezing. And so Yamucha had tried to compensate. He'd returned home. Packed some warm clothes and extra blankets. And at first, he'd assumed that everyone else was probably cold as well. So he'd learned, for example, that Kuririn was the heavy sleeper. You could throw an extra blanket over Kuririn when he was sleeping and not have to fear for your life. Chaozu, though, would be expecting it. You could walk up to him with an extra blanket when he was fast asleep and find a thank you note already waiting. Tenshinhan would not only wake up if anything got within twenty yards of him but when offered an extra blanket, he'd typically snarl that he could take care of himself and stalk off to sleep elsewhere. But the absolute light sleeper of the group... Was not the assassin. It was the samurai.

If you threw an extra blanket over Yajirobe then you'd never see more than a few shreds of that blanket ever again. He didn't just wake up at the smallest noises, he woke up and pulled a sword - and not always in that exact order. Yajirobe was a veteran. He'd slept in trenches. His survival had occasionally hinged on his being able to chop heads first, ask questions later.

And the samurai didn't approve of alcohol either.

Yamucha wasn't terribly fond of the stuff. He'd tried it because of his baseball team mates. He'd probably been the only sober desert bandit in the history of the world but when you were a true desert bandit, alcohol was not exactly abundant. He'd been lucky to find enough water, sometimes. The alcohol was an acquired taste. Yamucha had only recently acquired the taste for it. A few cans could last him a few months. Sometimes, it helped him to fall asleep. Not always. The alcohol didn't always mix well with the energy in his system.

A cup of tea would probably just be safer, all around.

Yamucha made his way to the kitchen. The kitchen was a mass of paperwork. This had happened overnight, too. Scrolls and books and diagrams and teacups and... Yamucha did not want to look at the paperwork here. Because he didn't have a family tree - he wasn't aware of his own birth parents. He wasn't sure that he wanted to become aware of his own parents. It would have been nice, maybe, just to have a copy of his birth certificate. That probably would have made revoking his death certificate less of a challenge. But a whole family tree...

The main scroll, laying open across the middle of the kitchen table, had the name Mutaito on it in large bold and ancient cursive print. It was as much a work of art as a historical document. Other scrolls lay beside it, looking formal but less impressive. They were hard not to look at. Somewhere in all this mess, would be the name of the person who had tried to kill Master Roshi. The same person who had claimed to kill the Crane Master.

The fact that the Crane Master might be dead had not surprised Yamucha. Honestly, he'd sort of thought that either Tenshinhan or Chaozu would have killed the guy ages ago. And if not them... It still wasn't a huge surprise. Because the Crane Master had been the elder brother of Tao Pai Pai, the flamboyant and self-proclaimed Worlds Greatest Assassin. And Tao was dead. Tenshinhan had mangled Tao to near-death, anyway. So it only made sense, to assume that Tao was dead. Because he'd probably had other enemies and rivals. People wanting to defeat Tao for personal reasons and perhaps even people wanting to become the next Worlds Greatest Assassin. And if the Crane Master had essentially been a hostile jerk for over three hundred years then he'd probably made some fairly serious enemies of his own. And without his little brothers protection... Yea. Death for Tsuru-sennin really was not a surprise.

But if someone was willing to take a shot at Master Roshi...

Master Roshi had, inexplicably, become protective of his attacker. He'd told Kuririn that it was a descendant of Mutaitos and that was all. The old man hadn't wanted to give them any other names. Master Roshi had defended himself and had let his attacker survive. He had spoken to Kuririn once about the attack and was then no longer willing to speak of it. Master Roshi had decided that the matter was closed. Kuririn held a different opinion of the situation, he was concerned for his sensei. What if Master Roshi was attacked again? And there was also another valid point that concerned Kuririn: if someone had attacked Roshi then what were the odds of all the Kame style students being on a hit list somewhere? If Roshis attacker had, in fact, also killed the Crane Master then would former students of the Tsuru dojo be on that list too?

Kuririn wanted names. He wanted to know who he might be dealing with and what to expect. All of them did, now. But only one of them could pull the files.

"How's it going?" Yamucha ventured, rummaging for teabags.

Yajirobe responded without looking up. "I've seen better days."

As a samurai and a veteran, Yajirobe had special access to the files of the World Government. He could demand to see anything that concerned the battles of the past. He could claim to be building a memorial for his own ancestors and get full copies of all their records. He could pull data on anyone else who had ever been a samurai. Even with the archives of the world in rough shape, he could get the information delivered to him. So he hadn't needed to leave. And that was just as a samurai. As the current favorite student of Korin, Yajirobe was in line to become a minor god someday. _That _came with some additional security clearances. He could take a list of names - and a family tree _was _essentially just a list of names - and pull every other document on the planet known to contain those names. The kitchen looked a mess but there was a hint of organization to all the stacks of paper. Yajirobe was comparing the records and narrowing the suspects. He was tired but he'd obviously done this sort of work before.

Yamucha poured a mug of tea. There weren't any clean teacups. "We've all seen better days."

"When?" Yajirobe studied the teacup nearest him. The contents appeared to be growing slime. He sighed and took the cup to the sink, washed it out and refilled it.

The conflicting logic of these statements took a moment to grapple with. So... They'd seen better days but not many? Or... They'd seen better days but not recently? Or... Wait... No... Eh. Yamucha pulled a spatula from a drawer, faced the samurai and tapped him lightly, once on each shoulder. "I dub thee Zombie-sennin. Fearless leader of the insomniacs."

Yajirobe was nonplussed but not without a sense of humor. "Evil doesn't rest."

"Exactly!" Yamucha put the spatula away and left the kitchen.

He went upstairs. The air here had an animal texture to it which was not unexpected. There were stray pets everywhere. Sleeping on the floor and curled up on the furniture and...

Yamucha knew exactly what might cheer him. He needed to cheer up. Yesterday had been horrible and he'd hardly gotten any sleep - so he was bracing for another day of bad news on no rest. If he didn't find a way to cheer up at least a little then he was going to snap. Luckily, there was a way. It was easy. He'd invented it.

He gathered his energy and concentrated. A small sphere of light escaped the open palm of one hand, the mug held in his other hand. He flicked the weak blast towards the far end of the hall and waited. The sphere hung there, faint and buzzing. Then a paw swiped at it. Yamucha grinned and gestured. The sphere moved. The paws followed it. The sphere circled and dove, bobbed and twisted. A fluid bundle of fur and claws gave chase. The blast split into two spheres and the chase became even more animated. To the point of being comical.

Soukidan, the Following Spheres. That's what the attack was called, in the records of the Kame school and on the battlefield. A guided blast. A useful skill. But... Off the battlefield... It was Soukidan, the Ultimate Cat Toy. Which was more true to what Yamucha had been going for. The light seemed to have an almost hypnotic effect on felines. Chasing the 'attack' was purely instinctive for them.

The spheres faded just as the bundle of fur launched an aggressive final pounce. Yamucha laughed then realized which cat he'd gotten and began to retreat down the stairs.

A slightly mussed calico, one of Puars relatives - and the cats who could talk _really hated_ to be reminded of how close to domestic pets they were sometimes - hovered and threw an actual cat toy after him. A neon cloth mouse with jingling bells attached to it bounced off the wall of the stairwell. "Brat!" She shouted.

**ooxoo**

**T**here were children in the bathtub and children in the pantry and children in the bedrooms and... It was a bit much, even for ChiChi. She felt as if she'd become the main character of a certain nursery rhyme. She was starting to think that maybe the green demon - she knew his name but only cared to refer to him as a demon - hadn't kidnapped all of these kids. Which only mattered because she'd felt good about attacking the demon on their behalf. But if the kids had just been wandering out in the wild anyway... Then demon or not, he'd been wrongly accused.

Meh. He was demon. He was evil. He had a history of kidnapping. There was no point in feeling bad about attacking him. He would do something worthy of punishment, eventually. Maybe she'd just punished him in advance. Not that she'd done all that much damage, either. The demon knew how to defend himself and Gohan had calmly disarmed her after a few swipes.

How was she supposed to punish a kid who could take an axe away from her so easily?

ChiChi sighed. She loved her son. She worried about him. When he took off without saying anything, of course she was going to follow him. Of course she was going to assume the worst. The worst had happened before. She could recognize that her son was strong and intelligent and all the rest but it didn't matter, in her heart. He was _her child_. Her baby. He was only six! Okay, so he was six and a half. But she was the mother, the parent. She was supposed to be in charge! She was _supposed_ to be the protective one! She didn't ever want to cause harm to Gohan but if she didn't at least upset the kid once in a while then how would he ever be able to relate to her? How would he learn to understand that she was upset? When would he grasp the truth of WHY she was upset? She felt as if her concern just bounced off him, sometimes. She felt so unappreciated.

The new kids were a blessing, even if she was a little overwhelmed. She couldn't have left them out in the wild, all dirty and tired and hungry looking. It would have gone against every maternal nerve in her body. But she'd never expected...

Peer pressure! HA! The new kids appreciated her! Gohan was getting the lesson and, for once, she didn't even have to try to be the teacher. _Finally!_

ChiChi smirked. She was using a very large knife to chop up some vegetables. It was early in the day but she was thinking ahead. She couldn't afford not to, there were plenty of mouths to feed.

Most of the group was a bit older than Gohan. They could help with chores. Some of them even had domestic skills. Some of them were used to watching out for other kids. There were around thirty children in total and about twenty of them were being helpers. They had slept and had made the beds. Some had slept on the couch and some had slept in sleeping bags on the floor - but they'd all made their beds. They had bathed themselves and had monitered the younger ones in the bathtub. They had known about first aid already and had only needed access to clean bandages to practice it. They had gotten changed into clean clothes and some of them could even sew - they were doing their own alterations. They were doing their own laundry.

ChiChi had cared for and stabilized the ones in need of more serious medical attention. She had held the ones who had wanted to be held and had let them cry on her shoulders. She held their hands and rubbed their backs when they had nightmares. She could sing them lullabies and read them stories. They'd listened, instead of always asking questions. She'd told them about the Tooth Fairy and none of them had tried to set traps for the imaginary creature. She'd given them paper and crayons and now had a kitchen full of bright scribbly artwork on display. Gohan had never scribbled.

They were far too polite to have been around the demon for very long. ChiChi had cooked and the kids had done the dishes. They'd taken out the garbage. They'd weeded the garden. They'd washed the windows. Even when these kids played, they always shared and were quiet and put things away neatly when they were finished. And they always asked for permission before touching anything.

ChiChi loved it. She'd tell the children to rest and have a snack. They'd tell her that their parents had raised them to behave better when they were guests.

_See! _She'd wanted to scream and point but had so far resisted the urge. _I'm NOT the only parent in the world who tries to teach their kids this stuff!_

She was eager to meet these other parents and reunite the families. On the first day of having them in, ChiChi had taken down all of the childrens names. Some of them had even recited their home phone numbers for her. So she'd started making phonecalls the minute that she'd gotten half a chance. The phone systems of the world were still being repaired from whatever had happened a month ago. People were scattered from their homes. Some addresses no longer existed, some phone numbers no longer worked. Some parents were no longer living. ChiChi had managed to make a few contacts anyway. She had gotten ahold of a few parents and relatives. She was determined to find the rest.

Her awe of the children had increased. ChiChi hadn't known where they were from, when she'd started dialing. She'd found out. East Capital City was nowhere near the Son house. These kids... To have gotten to where she'd found them, out in the forests... They must have been walking together for a long time...

ChiChi was twenty-six. Between the ages of four and twelve, she'd been walking on her own in a sub-tropical desert. Her father, the Ox King, had sent her to try and find someone who could help put out the flaming mountainside where their castle home was located. The mountain had caught fire shortly after ChiChis birth. Her mother, who had died in childbirth, had been buried there. Ox King could - and probably should - have been the one to leave in search of help when the fires started but he'd been unwilling to part from the area where his wife had been so recently laid to rest. He'd loved her so much. Besides, Ox King had earned himself the reputation of being a big scary monster. He'd been afraid that if he went out then people would just run away from him. That wouldn't help anything. So Ox King had settled down by the burning mountain to raise his only child. Ox King had talked to her constantly and had been showing her how to hunt, fish and throw an axe before she could even crawl. As soon as ChiChi had been old enough to walk and speak in complete sentences then he had sent his cute little daughter out to find help instead.

What _these_ children had done... Because of her own experiences, ChiChi knew it was possible. She didn't just dismiss the idea. But... East Capital City. Even the parents that ChiChi had managed to find, it was going to take them a while to come and collect their children. And these parents, they'd be driving.

**ooxoo**

**T**he room was a mess. Tenshinhan was aware of this. He was up to his knees in paper and half of it was crumpled. Kuririn, still sitting on the floor, was practically hidden from view by the stacks of books around him. Instead of looking like two of the most dangerous adults on the planet, they probably looked like a pair of college students cramming for a final exam.

It was a little more serious than that.

They'd collaborated before. The eight months at Kamis Lookout hadn't been pure sparring - it had also resulted in a large binder. That binder was here, now. For reference. And most of the paper inside of it was covered in Kamis handwriting, which seemed ironic. Because the names of the attacks that had been recorded in this binder were Evil Beam, Evil Lance, Demons Stomp, Demons Bomb and Demons Corkscrew. There was also the Scatter Bomb and an Eye Laser technique. The binder had a name written across the front: Piccolo. The green warrior - and his father, to a lesser extent - had invented these attacks without making note of them. So Tenshinhan and Kuririn had helped Kami do the paperwork. Whether or not Piccolo realized it, he'd made them stronger. Even if they hadn't yet chosen to use any of the demons techniques, they'd learned them.

Kuririn had been busy lately. There were several new binders. They were here, too. Scattered across the coffee table. Kuririn had seen a lot of battles out in space and had, after being wished back to life _and_ wished back to Earth, taken some detailed notes. Tenshinhan kept his expression neutral but privately wasn't sure whether to feel impressed or disturbed.

There was a binder labeled 'Gohan'. It only had one unique attack recorded in it so far - Masenkou, the Demons Flash - but there was room to grow. There was a binder labeled with the word 'Saiyans' that seemed to be full of drawings and incomplete descriptions of everything that Vegeta and Nappa had shown them. There was a binder labeled 'Freezias henchmen' and another labeled 'Freezia' and...

"Rough drafts." Kuririn explained, having noticed what the assassin was reading. "Except for Gohans attack, he helped get that one finalized. But the rest..."

He let the statement end. He didn't want to have to mention Gokus name. Kuririn missed his friend but he had no idea when - and in his mind it was a matter of WHEN, not IF - Goku would make it back to Earth. They knew that Goku was alive. They just didn't know _where_. Somewhere out in space, that was all they'd been told. It was difficult to dwell on for many reasons but the rough drafts were, for Kuririn, one of them. He'd been to the battles but... Goku had, for the most part, been on the recieving end of these attacks. And Goku seemed to have a special genius for fighting, a knack for learning every attack that had ever been used against him. So it would have been great to have Goku around to help record all of these new methods. It would have made the task easier.

The 'Freezia' binder contained an attack that, even in Kuririns rough drafts, was familiar. Because Kuririn had invented names for all of the new techniques that he'd seen. And the attack which had captured Tenshinhans attention had been named the Perfectly Evil Fingertip Blast.

Dodonpa, the Fingertip Blast, was a Crane school attack. How could some alien monster who'd never set foot on Earth have perfected it?! That was just wrong! And that wasn't the only wrong thing about the situation. The way this attack was described... The power was enormous.

Tenshinhan knew that he would have to try to learn this powered up version of the Dodonpa - for his own pride and sanity as a competitive warrior, he'd HAVE to figure it out - but he didn't know if it was something that he could master. Regular Dodonpa was only meant to stun people. It could slice them or burn them and do some damage but... It was, like so many of the Crane style techniques, a tactic for stalling. Chaozu had already invented a dozen useful variations on Dodonpa - but they were only useful because they didn't rely on putting every ounce of strength behind them. A trained warrior didn't have to power up to use Dodonpa. You could use it repeatedly since it didn't take a lot of energy, it was one of those attacks. It could be used at long range, close up or anywhere inbetween. It could be lethal, in the right hands, but wasn't intended to leave much evidence.

This new attack... This Perfectly Evil Dodonpa... If Kuririns notes were accurate then the attack would only be useful if a warrior needed to blow up the moon or something.

A warrior could never know what they might need someday. Tenshinhan closed the binder, placing it aside. He added it to a growing mental checklist.

Most of the scrolls and books in the room were in Master Roshis handwriting. The contents of this series traced the origins and philosophies of energy combat before finishing with two volumes of attacks. One book was for the Kamehameha, which had taken Roshi fifty years to develop. Everything else that Roshi had invented was described in the other - his last and most recent - published work. There were newer books. Kuririn had written one. Yamuchas attacks were not all energy based but he'd recorded the ones that were. Chaozu had done a book of the Dodonpa variations and he had the most legible writing.

These texts captured not only the energy attacks and their often painstaking developments but their recommended use. If you didn't write down the instructions for an attack, didn't make your intentions for the attack clear - that part of the history was bound to get lost. And if history got lost then all their efforts and strategies would be lost with it. By creating the literature, they were growing the knowledge base. Giving each other - and any future warriors who might aspire to work with energy - something to draw inspiration from. It was important, to create the resources.

Goku had been made aware of this but he'd been a teenager before he had learned to write, so he'd needed some help to record his inventions. There were a few notes in Gokus own scrawl but most of his book was filled with other peoples handwriting - ChiChi, Kuririn, Roshi, Kami, Korin. The book on the coffee table only represented what Goku had come up with by the 23rd Tenkaichi Budoukai. It was mostly variations on the Kamehameha. Gokus skill for learning techniques had far outweighted his ability to invent techniques, prior to being married. Marriage had apparently caused Goku to settle down and settling down may have given him time to invent something. He'd probably need to write another book, when and if - and in Tenshinhans view this was a big IF - he ever returned to Earth.

ChiChi had been a warrior but had retired at the age of nineteen without publishing anything of her own. The Ox King - ChiChis father and a former student of Master Roshi - had a book but it was mostly about axes and ways to intimidate people with your battle presence. Yajirobe was a warrior but not inclined to shoot energy beams, if he'd written about anything then it likely involved swords. Korin was a warrior and also a spellcaster, he preferred to use magic. Kami was a warrior and he did know energy attacks - but he claimed not to have invented any.

The Crane Master had written some books but Tenshinhan had no idea where those were, now. Perhaps that was for the best.

Roshi might not have developed many attacks but at least his attacks were still respectable. The Crane Master had apparently spent a hundred years on the precursor to Taiyouken, the Solar Flare. Tenshinhan had developed and perfected the actual Solar Flare, as it currently existed. Being able to blind someone with your aura was a useful skill but hardly an attack. Most of the Crane Masters other techniques had been stalling tactics or purely psychic skills - which were only respectable if your opponent was vulnerable to them. The Crane Master had also claimed to invent the technique for flying but that was not likely. He had probably just borrowed and improved the flying technique. Dodonpa had been the invention of Tao Pai Pai, the Crane Masters younger brother. If there were any other Crane style techniques then Tenshinhan had not been told about them. Which was possible.

Tenshinhan had learned as much of the Crane style as he'd been shown and had served his teacher. Had given the old man plenty of second chances. Really, he'd never gotten along that great with the Crane Master. There hadn't been a lot of trust. The Crane Master had been arrogant and secretive and had made a lot of empty promises. Because of this behavior Tenshinhan had chosen to idolize Tao Pai Pai instead. He'd considered Tao to be his chief mentor for a time. That had required some extra discipline. An average martial arts teacher wouldn't kill a student for messing up. But when your teachers were the Crane Master and the Worlds Greatest Assassin... Tenshinhan had been a very good student, it been necessary for his survival.

If either - or both - of his former teachers were truly dead, Tenshinhan was not surprised. Nor was he upset.

He did wonder, though, about who had killed them. And he wondered, as well, if a certain small triclops might have had a role. But Chaozu had the most contacts to draw answers from. So it had made sense to stay here and work on this, while Chaozu met with lawyers and investigated.

The Crane Master... Tao Pai Pai... Tenshinhan could have killed either of them. He'd been tempted, more than once. But he'd chosen not to. At first, he'd decided that they were just testing his patience and measuring his worth. He had felt that if he could prove his determination as a student then maybe his teachers would finally agree to teach him something more powerful. But after the 22nd World Tournament...

Tenshinhan had won the 22nd Tenkaichi Budoukai and had immediately needed to work with Goku to save the world from Daimio, Piccolos father. It had been a humbling experience because even as the freshly named World Champion, he hadn't been able to defeat the demon alone. In the years following, Tenshinhan had studied at Kame Island for a bit and then trained at Korins Tower. Had gained a new sense of honor. As an assassin, he could have killed anyone. As an assassin with honor, the rules changed. Tenshinhan had become more selective. Or he would have needed to become selective, if he hadn't retired from being a professional killer. Still. He'd felt that it would be inappropriate - perhaps even dishonorable - to kill his own teachers. Especially since they were no longer able to pose a threat to him. Even after the 23rd Tenkaichi Budoukai, where a cyborgnetic version of Tao had nearly murdered Chaozu because Chaozus psychic skills did not work on robots most of the time... Tenshinhan had gotten the chance for revenge and he'd soundly thrashed his former mentor. But he'd stopped short of killing the cyborg.

Maybe that had been a mistake.

That fight, at the 23rd Budoukai... During that battle against the cyborg, Tenshinhan had only been caught off guard once. And it had only taken that one moment to have been given a scar. The crimson line started in his right shoulder and slashed down diagonally across his chest, tapering off before it reached his stomach. An inch or two deeper and the cyborgs attack could have struck his heart. Could have punctured a lung. Could have ripped out his intestines. The scar had healed well initially but the message was clear and the fact that the scar had remained with him, even after death and reincarnation... Tenshinhan had felt that perhaps it was meant to be a warning. A suspicion which made more sense, in light of all the things that Chaozu had recently shared with them about the Red Ribbon Army. And there was also one photograph, in particular, that Chaozu hadn't even shown the others. If it was possible that the criminals were building strange warrior children - that was awkward. But if they had the mangled remains of Cyborg Tao stored in a freezer somewhere, waiting for repairs... _That _was going to have to be taken care of.

Right after_ this _got taken care of.

"What do you think?" Kuririn tossed a page of equations onto the coffee table.

Tenshinhan lifted the page and studied it. His expression didn't change but he took note of a few things. First, Kuririn was getting tired. There were some minor errors that wouldn't have been in the formulas otherwise. Second, Kuririn was brilliant even when he was tired. They just about had the thing down. They were getting closer. Maybe even _too close_. "Hrm. It's a lot better but how about..." Tenshinhan found a pen amid the papers and hastily scratched a some 'corrections'.

Kuririn suppressed a yawn. He had a pencil behind his ear and another in his hand, both were slightly chewed. He accepted the page with its corrections and stared at it drowsily. He tried to imagine the attack that the new equations described. "Oh..." He frowned. "No. I think it's more like..." With determination, he starting writing again.

If Kuririn hadn't been so tired then he might have realized that every single time they seemed to be getting closer... Tenshinhan was deftly changing the basic structure of the formula. As it was, all that Kuririn could find to be annoyed about was the fact that he was writing in pencil but Tenshinhan kept making corrections in ink.

Tenshinhan and Kuririn were two very different people. Height, weight, age, history, skills, beliefs - it wouldn't have taken a second glance to see how different they were. Even the few things that appeared similiar between them had happened for radically different reasons. Kuririn was bald by choice - he could let his hair grow back, if he ever cared to. Tenshinhan had lost his hair shortly after becoming a triclops which wasn't a reversible phenomenon. Kuririn was a former monk who had been taught to value every living thing. Tenshinhan was a former assassin, so he'd learned the value of life by ending it for other people. They were warriors and professional about it, which was probably the main reason that they could work together when needed.

Mafuba was the other reason. Because it was where their paths crossed, so to speak.

The Crane Master and Master Roshi had been students of the same legendary teacher - Mutaito. Kuririn and Tenshinhan had each - separately and for separate reasons - chosen to take inspiration from not their own teachers but from their teachers teacher. Mutaito.

Kuririn had studied the Mafuba and had embraced the concept of guided energy blasts. He had developed his first attack: Tsuihikidan, the Following Wave. An energy beam that he could steer. Motivated by this success, Kuririn had also developed the improved and perfect versions which were faster. Double Tsuihikidan had been his next innovation: two guided waves instead of one. Then he'd tripled the attack. Then he'd quadrupled it. Somewhere along the line of experimenting with multiple guided blasts, a new attack had gradually revealed itself. The energy beams had broken down into smaller parts - all of which could still be guided. That had been the birth of Kakusandan, the Scatter Shot technique.

In terms of energy combat, it was groundbreaking and legendary work. That went without question. Nothing like Scatter Shot had been done on Earth before Kuririn did it. The importance of Scatter Shot was so great that it wasn't even diminished by the fact that Piccolo had later hijacked the principles of the move in order to create the Scatter Bomb. And on paper, these attacks looked amazing. But on the battlefield... Kuririn was what made them good attacks. Scatter Shot might not have been more than a firework display without him. When your focus was on control and speed, you tended to sacrifice power. Even Kienzan, the Following Disc - Kuririns latest invention - if the warrior using it wasn't abnormally strong to begin with then the attack wasn't going to do a ton of damage.

Nevertheless, Kuririn had written the book. It represented everything that he'd come up with since the age of thirteen. He'd changed what was considered possible, for warriors working with energy.

Tenshinhan had put together a book of his own over the years but he hadn't brought it to this session. Deliberately. Tenshinhan hadn't just studied the principles of Mafuba - he'd learned the attack. He'd practiced it. Being able to practice something that was supposed to kill you was an accomplishment by itself. He'd figured it out. With the information in his head, he didn't need to reference his own book. And he didn't particularly care to share the information yet, either.

Kikouhou, the Spirit Cannon was heavily based off Mafuba. Tenshinhan hadn't embraced just one aspect of the ancient technique. Kikouhou could be guided but it was tricky because it was powerful. Anyone using Kikouhou... If they were weak, it would kill them. If they were strong, they might survive. If they were stronger and more disciplined than average, they might even be able to use the attack repeatedly. But the attack would be powerful, regardless. Mafuba had expressed the same intent - it didn't matter how strong the warrior using it was, the attack was going to be powerful. With Mafuba, though, you were guaranteed to die and you HAD to have a denshi jar. The whole purpose of the Mafuba was to trap and seal your enemy away, so you had to have something to put them in. With Kikouhou... You didn't _have_ to seal your opponent into anything. But you _could_.

The attack that they were mapping now... This invention of the defeated warrior, Garlic Junior... Kuririn had named it ChouMafuba, the Perfect Evil Seal. Which meant, in Tenshinhans mind, Almost Kikouhou.

So... Freezia had used a Perfectly Evil Dodonpa and Garlic Junior had nearly stolen the Spirit Cannon. Warriors that Tenshinhan had never met were using attacks that he'd worked hard for. Worse, they were using _variations_ on the attacks that he'd worked hard for. The Perfectly Evil Dodonpa was vastly more powerful but Tenshinhan wasn't sure if that alone should qualify it as an improvement. The Perfect Evil Seal was basically Mafuba minus the risk of dying - so it wasn't as flexible as Kikouhou because you'd still HAVE to have a denshi jar but... It was interesting to know. Not to mention deeply frustrating.

And if Kuririn succeeded in mapping these attacks... Then anyone who visited Kame Island would be able to study them.

The thing about energy combat was that energy attacks could give off light. Tenshinhan had been an assassin. As such, he'd done a lot of work in the dark. Even the jobs taken care of during the day had often required setting traps in some dark place. So energy attacks hadn't been practical for him to use because the last thing that any professional assassin wanted was to draw unnecessary attention. Tenshinhan had always been interested in energy combat, had always done the training and the research - he'd learned Dodonpa and developed Kikouhou even _before_ meeting Goku - but he'd rarely used the talents outside of tournaments simply because they were too showy.

Energy attacks had become more important, in recent years. Giving away _all_ of the information about how to develop them just didn't seem wise. Tenshinhan was proud and protective of his inventions - and still working on new techniques. He regarded Kuririn with a level of respect but didn't care to have all these dangerous secrets down on paper for everyone to see.

Thankfully, Tenshinhan did not need energy attacks to be effective. He didn't even need to fight.

In the hallway beyond this messy impromptu study, Yamucha darted past. He was followed by a wave of fur, feathers and scales. The stray animals were either happy to see him or angry to have been woken up so early in the morning. Possibly both. The bandit had no trouble evading the mixed herd. He wasn't at a fraction of his top speed. He skidded into the room, grinning and only mildly clawed - and pressed against the wall. His position was such that he could see the hallway without being seen from the hallway. He probably intended to leap out and taunt the creatures, once the stampede made a u-turn.

Instead the bandit paused, blinked and turned his attention towards them. Yamucha came further into the room, trying not to step on any paperwork. He crouched by a stack of books. "... How long has he been alseep?"

Tenshinhan felt that he could act, when the situation called for it. He didn't take his eyes from the scroll he was reading but feigned a tone of surprise. "He's asleep?"

It was a credible setup. Kuririn had been tired to begin with and they'd been working on equations for hours. Tenshinhan was accustomed to being able to stay awake for days at a time, when needed. Kuririn wasn't. And it shouldn't seem too weird if Kuririn didn't wake up right away because, as everyone who had trained at Kamis Lookout had noticed, he was the heavy sleeper of the group.

The stampede went down the hall in the other direction now. Yamucha glanced towards the hallway but remained still. He studied the room for a long moment, coming to his own conclusions. He was adept at detecting energy, unfortunately. He could tell the difference between natural sleep and not-so-naturally-induced sleep. Yamucha stood and carefully lifted Kuririn from the floor. "Don't ever play poker." The bandit advised, nudging at a half-empty teacup with his foot. "How much sedative was there?"

One of the benefits of being an assassin was that sometimes, you could get away with telling the truth. The truth wasn't always pleasant but nobody would punish you if they were literally scared to death of you. So Tenshinhan dropped the tone of feigned surprise and shrugged. Without breaking his calm or seeming hurried, he pulled on his jacket and started collecting paperwork. "How much tea is left?'

**ooxoo**

**K**i is related to mood. Gohan was NOT estatic.

How was he supposed to feel? He'd never been around so many other children before. He'd certainly never expected to see so many other children in his own home. There wasn't a lot of privacy. Gohan tried not to be possessive. He respected these other kids and understood that they'd been through a lot. Heck it had been HIS idea to take them in. But he hadn't expected them all to stay for so long. He'd expected them to eat, sleep, get cleaned up and get sent home. He hadn't envisioned it as taking days.

It was irritating. It was more than irritating. Gohan didn't know what the right word was. He was six. He was an only child. He wasn't used to sharing but felt compelled to be polite - and that was irritating too. He respected these kids but he didn't like them in his space. They were reading his books and playing with his toys and wearing the clothes that he'd either outgrown or not yet grown into. And... They were calling his mother, Mom... Which struck a nerve.

But his mother didn't seem to mind. And as long as she was happy... Gohan didn't know what he could - or should - do about his own discomfort on the issue.

These other children... They'd been wandering in the wilderness for at least a month. They'd walked out of East Capital City and had followed the coastline. East Capital City was - as the name indicated - in the east but also the far north. These regular kids... They must not have taken many breaks. Because they had walked slightly more than half the length of the continent. Another couple of weeks and the ragged group might have made it to the southern shore. They might have been able to see Kame Island.

Most of the children had started with shoes. Their shoes had fallen apart. All of them had bandaged and blistered feet, now. All of them limped.

Bearing this in mind, Gohan respected them. He'd refrained from threatening anyone. Plus he felt guilty around them sometimes. Because the dark mist had fallen to Earth a month ago, Gohan had been a part of the battles against Garlic Junior. He'd helped to save the world. Except... The world was still a mess. If the dark mist could have been prevented... Maybe these other kids wouldn't have had to endure their long walk. They wouldn't have had any reason to leave home.

Except... Well. Maybe THESE children would have still had reasons to leave home. Because they were from East Capital City. So it wasn't JUST the dark mist that had caused devestation. East Capital City was the place where Vegeta and Nappa had landed, a year ago. Gohan hadn't been fully aware of all that had happened back then. He'd been terrified and confused for most of that battle - and cautiously happy, once his father had returned. But he was aware, now, that the Saiyan spacepods had crashed in the city which had caused damage and panic. Then Vegeta and Nappa had stepped out of their spacepods and had promptly caused further damage and panic. A populated section of East Capital City had been vaporized. That had been a year ago. The East Capital of the world had cleaned up but not rebuilt. And the residents had not recovered from the shock of those attacks. Some of the kids, especially the ones older than Gohan... They still remembered seeing those blasts. They remembered what it was like, to watch their neighbors vanish.

It was no wonder, that these children disliked aliens so much.

His mother tried to get them to sit still, sometimes. She wanted them to rest and heal. But these kids were in the habit of being on the move, now. They fidgeted and paced a lot. They wanted to stay busy. They'd done all of his chores, which Gohan appreciated even though on some level he was sure that he could have done the work faster and better.

Really, the other children were not bad company. They were cautious and some avoided him - but others had talked to him. They walked with him and could speak to him about the types of subjects that adults wouldn't have understood. Some of them knew jokes and could make Gohan laugh. He'd been able to play card games and board games with people around his own age. They'd taught Gohan how to sew, how to turn rubber bands into musical instruments and all sorts of things. They had traded first aid tips and suggestions for keeping warm when you had to sleep on the ground. They had respectfully not touched a single thing belonging to his father.

They kept mentioning someone called Shirley.

Being a six year old, even a genius of a six year old, Gohan didn't understand the whole world. But what he knew was that pretty much all the warriors - good or bad - that he'd ever dealt with were male. Until about week ago, his mother had been the only female warrior that Gohan had even heard of and she'd retired from fighting long before his birth. Then... Mere days ago, he'd spotted the flying triclops girl. Gohan still had no idea why she'd fled in terror from him. He was determined to locate her again - just say hello. He wanted to introduce himself and be introduced. He wanted a better look at her. He wanted to see if she really was a warrior, too.

Gohan had an idea of how he was going to accomplish this. He was planning to go her house. Gohan was assuming that he knew who the three-eyed girls father was. And he was assuming that Kuririn would know her address.

It still thrilled him a bit to think of the little triclops. Another child warrior! It didn't even matter if it was a girl. Just to know that another kid could fight with energy - that was a relief. Being the only demi-saiyan on Earth and maybe the only demi-saiyan _anywhere_... Gohan knew that he wasn't considered normal. It was a burden, sometimes. His parents had always told him that it was okay to be unique but it was hard to come to terms with. Gohan didn't really want to be so special. He didn't want to be the only demi-saiyan. He didn't want to be the only _anything_. He didn't want to have to deal with people calling him an alien or treating him like he might just explode in their faces someday. Even the friends that he'd made... How many normal six year olds were friends with the warriors who defended the world? How many normal six year olds had friends like Dende, who now lived on another world? Gohan had traveled to outer space. He'd been in battles. Had fought to live and had watched others die. He'd seen the Eternal Dragons - both of them - and...

Normal was a rare thing for Gohan. He wanted to experience it more, wanted to try and understand the concept better. If there was at least one other child warrior on Earth, that made him a little more normal. Didn't it?

But for now... There was this Shirley to investigate. From what Gohan had overheard... She had been the main hunter for the wandering children. She had defended them from wild animals and had taught them first aid. She had been vital to the groups survival, it sounded like. So the question was: where was she now? There hadn't been anyone named Shirley in the group at the house. The kids who had talked about her wouldn't say what had happened but they also hadn't seemed too sad when they mentioned her name. So maybe she wasn't dead. Had they thrown her out of the group? But they all seemed to admire her... Maybe there had been an argument. Or maybe she'd left on her own. Could she have gotten lost, while defending the group? What if she was still out there in the wild? Even if she was clearly capable of surviving... To be alone in the wild, that had to be scary. Gohan, in fact, understood exactly how scary.

So Gohan was currently out looking for this Shirley person. With so many other kids in the house, he could sneak off unnoticed. That was nice.

He stood in the forest, frowning and inspecting the dirt. It was the right forest but... Was this the right spot? There didn't seem to be many footprints. Gohan looked at the trees but didn't find much help there, either. It was hard to to be certain. All the trees looked about the same, in this place.

Gohan was trying to retrace his steps. Trying to find the exact location where he and Piccolo had first stumbled across the wandering kids. Because that would give him a good starting point, for the search. This Shirley person... Gohan hoped that she hadn't gotten too far. He wondered how long she'd been separated from the other kids. He wondered which direction she might have gone.

Searching for someone should not have been so much trouble.

However most of the wandering kids, they hadn't been very strong. Well. No. That wasn't accurate. Any group of kids who could survive in the wild for a month AND nearly walk half the length of a continent, it wasn't right to say that they were weak. The other kids had strength but it was not the kind of strength that Gohan had been trained to detect, that was all. Their physical energy levels had not been significant. They were survivors but not warriors. And they were still recovering from their journey so with their health impaired, their physical energy signatures had been further weakened. Thus aside from jokes and sewing and first aid... Aside from invoking a certain amount of protective jealousy on the issue of parents and a certain amount guilt on the issue of strength... The other kids had inadvertantly taught Gohan another sort of lesson. Because they had made Gohan aware of the fact that not only was he NOT normal but he couldn't even detect a normal person with ease.

He'd been surprised at how difficult the task was. Even in his own home - when the other kids were in plain sight and less than ten feet away - Gohan hadn't always been able to detect them instantly. Because it was a challenge, to look past his own energy. So out in a forest... When he didn't even know if he was close to the right location... And what if this Shirley person was hurt? She might not have enough energy to detect clearly.

Relying on ki didn't make sense.

Gohan kicked off the ground, took to the sky and stared down at the treetops. They all looked about the same from this viewpoint as well.

When Gohan had been younger, he'd heard stories about the forests. He lived by a forest so it had been inevitable perhaps. There were a lot of stories. The forest was so dense, the scenary so repetative... Sometimes people went missing. They just walked into the trees and were never seen again. Even experienced hikers and campers, even people wearing tracking devices... They got disoriented. Rescue parties with airplanes and search animals would search for months - and sometimes also go missing. The forest just made them all disappear, somehow. But those who did walk out of the old growth forests... Sometimes people came out of the trees claiming to have seen the ruins of a lost city or a flock of animals thought to have gone extinct ages ago. It would cause a lot of excitement but would never lead to any solid discoveries. Because the people could never relocate any of the wonders that they'd seen.

The forest had an energy of its own. Gohan didn't like it. He wished that his father was with him. He wished that Kuririn or Piccolo were here. But they weren't. His father was in outer space, still. Piccolo had flown off in a bad mood a few days ago and hadn't raised his energy since so Gohan knew that his visits weren't welcome. And Kuririn was at a supposively boring meeting with other adults.

Gohan turned, still hovering and trying to decide what part of the landscape was the right spot. He didn't want to give up. Gohan was aware that probably nobody else was looking for Shirley - what if he was the girls only chance? He couldn't give up. The forest was starting to spook him but... That wasn't logical. Gohan tried to reason with his own mind. He'd seen a lot of scary things. Forests were not on that list. Really, after all that he'd witnessed in the past two years... What could be so frightening about a bunch of ancient trees growing close together?

He dropped back among the trees, flying slowly and studying the ground. His presence startled a number of birds and animals and also...

There was a scream in the distance. Gohan spun around and had to consciously resist the impulse to throw an energy blast. The scream had caught him off guard but... A flash of pale green light exploded into existence, the energy registered instantly. The three-eyed girl! And... She was fleeing in terror? ...Again?

Gohan really didn't understand why. Instead of immediately giving chase, he landed. Gohan went over to the area where the little triclops had taken off from and looked around, wondering if something in the forest had scared her.

He about fell over in shock.

There WAS another person here. A girl. Bigger than him, taller than him. Probably a few years older than him. With her back to him. Another warrior? She looked like someone who had been in a fight. But even from a distance... Her whole stance... It was absolutely familiar. And when Gohan got closer, he could see her pointy ears.

_Piccolo is a FATHER!_ Was the first joy-soaked rationalization that crossed Gohans mind and caused his heart to expand. This didn't last for more than a split-second, though. The logical side of his brain kicked in. _That's not possible..._

Gohan was six. Before he'd started leaving home and having adventures... He'd always gone to bed early. And there had always been bedtime stories. His mother had read to him from books but his father had told him things. Thus Gohan knew the story of how his parents had met and knew the story of their wedding. He knew about every world tournament that his father had participated in. The 22nd Tenkaichi Budoukai had been Gohans favorite bedtime tale for ages - because when he was younger, Gohan hadn't realized that his fathers stories were all true. In the past two years... What his father hadn't taught him about the recent history of the world, life experience and Kuririn eventually had. So Gohan _knew_ that Piccolo was only supposed to be eleven. And he knew that eleven year olds weren't normally parents. And even if Piccolo maybe wasn't normal - which was one of the reasons that Gohan had always tried to befriend his mentor, it was nice to think that someone could relate to being an outcast - this pointy-earred girl... She looked like she might be close to the age of eleven herself.

Even without this knowledge... Dende and the other Nameks who had been stranded on Earth for ten months - they had all been male. They had politely explained that Nameks could only be born when an adult spit out an egg. And not all of the adult Nameks had that ability. And the resulting children... Because ten Earth months had been roughly equal to two Namekian years... So yes, some new Namekian children had been born on Earth while the Nameks were stranded. Gohan had actually gotten to see the process. And he couldn't imagine Piccolo spitting out an egg. And he really couldn't imagine anything so human-looking hatching from such an egg. And he had been shown that nothing female could be Namekian.

It didn't make SENSE that she was so familiar! It just wasn't possible! She COULDN'T be related to...

The girl with pointy ears faced him. She didn't have a nose. The logical side of Gohans brain saw what it was up against and attempted to take a vacation.

_...she... but... how?_

"You can detect energy, can't you? That's how you found us, right?" The girl was approaching. There was something about her that made Gohan take a step back.

_Look at her hair!_ Gohans brain rallied, trying to fend off the flood of confusion. _She has dark spikey hair. That's familiar but it's not causing any panic, right? Because lots of people have dark spikey hair. There are at least five adults that you've known with dark spikey hair. Vegeta, Yamucha, that samurai who cut Vegetas tail off, your uncle who's dead now and your father. Heck YOU have had dark spikey hair. So maybe Piccolo isn't the only pointy-earred resident of the Earth. Maybe Kuririn isn't the only noseless warrior in existence. She might just be a complete and utter stranger who happens to have a few traits in common with the people that you know. Get a grip!_

"Uhm..." Was all that squeaked past his vocal chords. Because he could detect energy. This girl wasn't anywhere near the strongest thing that Gohan had ever detected but even her ki seemed familiar.

The pointy-earred girl glared in the direction of her departed peer - the little triclops clearly wasn't coming back - and then frowned down at Gohan. He'd never met her before but, even without the nose, it was a frown that he'd seen many times. She seemed to reach a decision. "Where did the lady with the axe take my friends? They had BETTER be okay."

"YOU..." Gohan felt mildy dizzy as his brain reached a new conclusion, "...are Shirley?"

She flicked her ears, glared at him more intently and stood as if ready to attack; bringing together a closed fist and an open palm. "What, you don't think it's a tough name?"

**ooxoo**


	22. Blush: November 13th, 763 AD

_**Eclipse**_

**by DoraMouse**

**ooxoo**

**Blush: November 13th, 763 A.D.**

**R**anshin felt awful, in every possible sense. She was laying on the ground, hissing in pain with each breath and mentally kicking herself. She was still in a forested area because she hadn't been able to fly very far - she was too injured and exhausted from her last prolonged attempt at fleeing. She'd literally run out of energy and just crashed. Summoning her aura had reopened some wounds and made the burns worse. The abrupt drop hadn't improved her condition. She'd spent a cold and sleepless night hiding under a shrub, trembling with pain and fear, wondering if a wild animal - or something worse - might smell her blood and come to finish her.

Her mind was filled with ugly images. Ranshin was once again struggling to forget all of the fragmented traumas that Gohan didn't realize he was capable of projecting. His energy told the story of how he'd gained his strength. It was brutal.

To view someone elses memories was a torture. The general gist of Gohans adventures aside... His memories weren't completely clear and Ranshin doubted that she'd seen them in order. This basically left Ranshin with a lot of questions that she wasn't sure how - or even who - to ask. Thus she hated to witness the battles in this way. Because the people and monsters that Gohan remembered, Ranshin didn't know who most of them were. The idea of battles taking place beyond the Earth and warriors being strong enough to destroy planets - Ranshin wasn't ready to accept these concepts as possible. She was also hung up on the motives, which she couldn't begin to understand. What had all these warriors been fighting for? Even if populated alien worlds existed, why go and start a fight there? And if you blew up the planet that you were on then where would you go, where would you live? How would you even survive such a ridiculous attack, anyway?

Ranshin thought about the alien invasion that had been shown on the news so long ago. The two alien warriors who had landed on Earth and attacked a city. Their battle with the Earth Special Forces had been televised. Ranshin had seen that fight broadcast live, watching with her genetic siblings from the Red Ribbons underground labs and had then studied it many other times, because the Crane Master had recorded the battle and had spent a while obsessed with it. Before, Ranshin had always automatically felt that the aliens were evil. But now, thanks to the jumble of information from Gohans energy... Ranshin wasn't so certain. She was under the impression that maybe - if battles on other worlds were possible - those battles had happened first. Which meant that perhaps the aliens WEREN'T the evil ones. What if the aliens had been provoked? What if the warriors of Earth had gone to other worlds and attacked first?

Maybe this was why the Crane Master had been so adamant when insisting that the best warriors on Earth were not good people. Maybe this was why even Sensei Jitsugen had refused to call the warriors of Earths Special Forces heros. Maybe if the so-called heros of Earth were dealt with then the aliens would leave the rest of Earths population alone.

Four of the Earths warriors had died in that battle against the invading aliens. Ranshin had seen those deaths happen - first on the televisions and more recently in Gohans memories. But... She had also seen - from a distance - three of the warriors since then. They weren't dead anymore. That didn't seem right, somehow. It was just another aspect of the whole situation that Ranshin couldn't grasp. How had the warriors come back to life? And how was anyone supposed to deal with warriors that were capable of such a stunt?

When she had been able to see bits of the future, that had been odd but at least it was something that could be acted on. You could try to prepare, for the future. But when you were just stuck viewing the past - what could you do? Was it ever too late, to seek justice? And what WAS justice? Was death an application of justice? But death didn't work on these warriors...

A teeny tiny seed sprouted in the back of Ranshins thoughts. It was less than an idea. But it would, eventually, grow.

Ranshin shifted her attention. Trying to keep her mind off the rather demanding subject of being in pain. She had a past of her own to contend with. It hadn't been entirely pretty, either. She didn't feel qualified to deal with Earths Special Forces. She was barely dealing with everything else that she'd been through. Ranshin hated to admit it but she seemed to get distracted a lot. The past year of her life had been especially eventful.

She had watched the aliens invading Earth and killing the defenders of her planet - and hadn't done anything about it. Which hadn't bothered her at the time but it did, now. She hadn't been able to prevent the Crane Master from dying. Red Ribbon had created and raised her but she'd promptly turned her back on them. Sensei Jitsugen had taken her in and had tried to train her - and she'd run away from his dojo for four months, just to search for her genetic siblings. Her four months of searching had begun when she'd found one ghost - Proto4A - and that had been the only sibling to cross Ranshins path at the time. Her long search had taught her about the world but had not turned up any more siblings.

Then Ranshin had gone back to the dojo, just in time for the dark clouds to cause massive damage to the Earths population and get all the tournaments cancelled. She hadn't prevented the dark fog, she hadn't saved Sensei Jitsugen from harm and she hadn't lifted a finger to help clean up any of the devestation in the world. Ranshin had eventually flown away from the ghost-ridden and android-visited hospital where Sensei Jitsugen hadn't been getting much better. Maybe the depression being projected in that area had caused her to suffer those destructive trances? Out in the wild again, she'd stumbled across her friend Android Nine. She'd returned to the Red Ribbon underground in order to gather all of the Crane Masters belongings into a capsule and heaven only knew when or where that capsule had been dropped. Her clothes didn't have pockets on them anymore, that's how worn and damaged they were. And she'd left poor Android Nine back in the tunnels in order to chase down the pale warrior. How long ago had that been? More than a week, now. Maybe more than two weeks. It seemed like a long time ago, already. Hopefully, Nine was okay. Ranshin wished that she hadn't been so self-centered. She hadn't been a very good friend to Nine, really. She regretted that.

She'd battled the pale warrior and had flown away. Had been followed by the green warrior and had flown away. Had been chased by the glowing boy and had flown away. And most recently, had even flown away from her own sister just to avoid being victimized once again by the glowing boys mind.

It was a not a nice pattern. Ranshin was not proud of it.

The issue of her elder sister, Shirley, lingered. Rivals or not, Ranshin felt guilty for leaving her sister behind. Shirley had been the strongest of the genetic children from the labs - the protector of the group - but out in the world, how did that measure up? Ranshin had continued to train, after her departure from Red Ribbon. Had Shirley done any training lately? Even if her sisters power had improved, it probably wouldn't be enough. And so... Would Shirley be okay? What if the glowing boy hurt her? The contents of Gohans mind confirmed to Ranshin that her sister would die if she started a fight. Shirley was usually good around kids that didn't threaten her but around others that were strong... Starting a fight was a matter of time. If only Ranshin had felt better, maybe she would have been able to carry her sister and fly them both away. If only Shirley wasn't so stubborn, maybe she would have learned to fly years ago and could have saved herself.

How to save Shirley, now?

_Grace over power..._ That had been one of the vital concepts to Ranshins training. She had memorized the statement, had studied it and now wondered about how much truth it held. The glowing boy, Gohan. He had the power. Where the heck was the grace, when Ranshin needed it? How was she supposed to get anywhere near him without being subjected to his memories, nevermind his strength? Even if she thought of a way to distract him... What if Shirley didn't take the cue to escape from danger? How was Ranshin supposed to drag her own sister away when currently she didn't even have the energy to stand up? Shirley would probably resist being dragged.

And besides, Ranshin was tired of running away. Avoiding fights was a good survival skill but escape created its own problems. Ranshin was five now. Not many of her genetic peers had made it to that age. So it was time, as Shirely had pointed out, to start being more responsible. If she truly wanted to rescue her sister, find any of their other siblings, avenge the Crane Master, locate Nine again, help Sensei Jitsugen, defend the world or improve her own power... It was going to take courage. It was going to take focus. And that meant confronting problems more, running away less.

Ranshin closed two of her eyes. Her clothes and bandages were tattered, her aura was close to non-existent and her survival - she decided - was a miracle.

_Oh, I'm so glad that someone still notices miracles._

The words were soft-spoken and not spoken, both at the same time. They just abruptly appeared in Ranshins head. In response to the uninvited telepathic contact she sat bolt upright, which was a very bad idea. Injuries and such aside, she had not rolled out from beneath the shrub - so she was now tangled in the plant. And, it occurred to Ranshin, she didn't know if this shrub was poisoness.

Ranshin could detect energy but hadn't realized what she was doing. Shirley could detect energy and DID know what she was doing. The sisters hadn't spoken much but during the few days that Shirley had kept her alive, Ranshin had glimpsed enough of her sisters mind to finally gain an understanding of the skill. Which was yet another reason to rescue Shirley - Ranshin felt that the favor was owed. But first... It might be wise to save herself. From... Ranshin checked the world of energy. She checked two levels of energy: power and psychic power. She checked for the basic indication of life first and then for the presence of at least a mind, wanting to know the origin of the thought. There was definitely something new here but... Ranshin couldn't see it, she couldn't detect its life energy and she couldn't read its mind.

She was starting to miss being able to see ghosts. Maybe a ghost would have been able to offer some advice. Or... Wait. Maybe this WAS a ghost?

_It's not time for formal introductions. _The presence was faint but friendly. _That day will come. In the meantime, if you'd like to stay alive then please eat this._

An object appeared in the shrub - as if gently tossed there. It was small, white and round. Ranshin stared at it. Her first impression was that this looked like a pill and she distrusted medicine. But... She reached for the object. It wasn't a pill. It was a plant-based material, like a berry. It smelled like a berry and was kind of squishy.

Ranshin had a lot of questions. Was she dealing with a ghost or something else? How long had the presence been watching her? How much did it know about her? Why should she trust a creature that she couldn't see, hear or detect? Was this a trick? What if the berry-thing was poisoness? She was hungry but she didn't trust this strange food. What if...

_You really are one of the Crane Masters students, aren't you? He was always so paranoid._

"What are you?!" Ranshin demanded, she threw the mysterious berry away - not wanting anything to do with it. Squinting into the shadowed wilderness with three eyes and wishing that she could summon enough of her aura for at least a shield. Exhausted as she was, it was difficult just to remain alert and sitting upright. The branches of the shrub were poking, scratching and itching against her injuries. She was starting to bleed again. Pain and racing throughts made her slightly dizzy but she managed to shout without slurring. "And what do you know about Tsuru-sennin?!"

There was a sigh. It was audible. There was movement. Ranshin felt a hand on the back of her neck. She yelped and twisted, wanting to struggle but not in much condition to do so. The hand was large, had only three fingers and a thumb and belonged to someone with either long fingernails or short claws - she could feel that much without seeing it. Ranshin was yanked out of the shrub. Another invisible large hand was suddenly pressed against her mouth. It remained there until Ranshin had been forced to swallow the berry.

She was plunked on the ground, terrified, bewildered and coughing. A warm sensation spread through her and Ranshin stared at her wounds, watching them rapidly vanish. Her aura flicked back into place, her energy even seemed to have increased a little. Her pain was gone. Her hunger and thirst were gone. She was no longer tired. Ranshin was just confused.

_It's called a Senzu Bean. And you're welcome._ The mental voice seemed to be amused now. An invisible hand patted Ranshin on the head. A new outfit instantly replaced her tattered clothes. _Be good._

Kami departed.

Ranshin, having no idea of what she had just brushed against, spent a moment staring at her new clothes. Then she took to the air. She had even more questions now. "HEY! WAIT!"

There was no response. Ranshin waited for one anyway. She remained absolutely still, hovering in place and sincerely hoping that the world would come along soon and offer her some answers. A sign, an omen - something.

Nothing.

Ranshin sunk to the ground, disappointed and pouting for a moment. She was grateful for the senzu but it had a bad aftertaste. The whole experience had a bad aftertaste. And her new outfit... Was blue. Just few shades brighter than her indigo hair. A shirt and pants, fringed in dark red. A yellow tunic, worn over the shirt. Brown shoes. No socks. There was even a hair ribbon to tie her bangs back, keep them out of her eyes. It was a fighting outfit. The clothes were a good fit, flowing and not too tight. They should have been comfortable - and probably would have been more comfortable, if they hadn't just appeared out of thin air. But... There was also the writing to consider. Five symbols, small but done in red and black thread. Stacked in a vertical row, centered on the front of the tunic. Ranshin only recognized two of the symbols. One was the mark that Sensei Jitsugen had used to represent his dojo. The other one was a stylized tortise with a crane perched on it's back, wings spread - the mark of Master Mutaitos school. The other three... Ranshin couldn't read them. She hadn't seen anything like them before. And she didn't like the idea of wearing things that she couldn't read. But the tunic was attached to the shirt, they were sewn together. She could tear them apart but doubted that the shirt would survive. So until she had something else to get changed into... Maybe there would be a way to at least cover up the unfamiliar symbols?

Unfortunately, Ranshin could detect energy. So her mind full of questions and her schemes to modify her clothing were quickly replaced by the awareness of a blossoming power signature.

The glowing boy was getting a lot stronger.

_Proto7... _Ranshin caught herself and made the correction, jumping to a conclusion even as she returned to the air. Convinced that her older sister was in danger. _SHIRLEY!_

For just half a heartbeat, Ranshin hesitated. What could she do? She didn't want to run away but she was still terrified of the glowing boy. She couldn't match his power and couldn't even get near him without being vulnerable to his awful memories and... Then another core concept of her training surfaced in her mind. _Peace over anger. _Ranshin felt herself growing calmer. A plan arrived in Ranshins heart and her brain confirmed that it was worth a shot. It wasn't a foolproof plan but... The Crane Master, Sensei Jitsugen - they'd always tried to teach Ranshin that victory in battle wasn't merely about being the strongest.

It was time to put the theory to the test.

**ooxoo**

**M**ovement.

Gohan was mildly impressed. He was also mildly elated. Another child warrior!

He hadn't actually intended to be the one doing the sparring. He'd only meant to supervise, really.

Gohan was six years old. He was aware of places like grocery stores but he had never actually been inside a grocery store. His mother had read something about kids getting sick from being around too many people. And his grandfather had expressed concerns about what such a healthy kid might be able to do accidentally. It wasn't normal, Gohan had been politely informed, for a child under the age of three to carry all the groceries into the house. Taking Gohan shopping as a toddler would have probably resulted in him shoplifting - literally lifting the shop, in other words. Or at least a part of the shop. And neither of his parents had been eager to have the 'no, put that back' discussion with him in public. Because it would have been hard, even for them, to take anything away from such a strong boy.

So he wasn't upset, to have been left behind while his mother went out to get a few extra things. Gohan was kind of used to it. The idea of shopping held no appeal to him. The idea of calculating the household budget wasn't thrilling. In the past whenever his mother had gone shopping, his grandfather or father had stayed home with him. They'd talked and played together. And he even though there weren't any adults here to watch him today... He wasn't alone. There were the other kids. They could have all gotten into the car - the vehicle had been custom designed to accomidate his grandfathers giant size - but his mother had wanted them to try and stay off their still-blistered feet. So she'd put four of the older kids in charge of the rest and had given another child the duty of answering the phone if it rang and then she had left.

Gohan had waited until his mother was out of sight and earshot before declaring himself to be in charge of training. He didn't really enjoy battle - but training was okay. Sparring could be fun. Battle meant risking death and pain. Training didn't have involve risk. Especially not, Gohan had decided, if he was the teacher.

_Is it polite to hit a girl?_ Gohan shook the thought aside. He'd have to hit her, even if it wasn't polite. She was a warrior! How was she supposed to improve her defense if nobody attacked her? She didn't have a ton of speed or a fraction of his own power but... It was clear that someone had started to train her. She knew about movement.

If a very strong warrior stood still and threw a punch, the attack might do some damage. Attacks could be done wrong, though. The result was usually injury. Even a very strong warrior punching a brick wall incorrectly at a martial arts demonstration would likely go home with a broken hand. Throwing a punch correctly was a task for most beginners - even the strong ones - but throwing a punch correctly _while in motion_ ... And while the opponent was also in motion... As basic as it sounded, the practice took a little more skill and rewarded warriors with a little more power. Keeping track of an opponent, not tripping over your own feet, being able to block - all the essentials of a good spar. And the thing with being in motion... Was direction. Because if you could hit an opponent while moving then you gained a measure of control over the direction in which your opponent was moved. Which meant that you could anticipate...

_There! _Gohan ran forward, jabbed the air and knew that - at least for now - he had the advantage in this spar. Because he knew where the pointy-earred girl would be next. As long as he kept control over where his opponent was, losing didn't seem possible.

His father had - when his mother wasn't home - taught him about energy detection. Piccolo had thrown him off a cliff to encourage flight and had attacked him to encourage defense. Kuririn had helped him to gain a better understanding for the academic side of documenting inventions and the practical side of using energy attacks. All of them had mentioned the importance of movement... But Gohan had mostly learned to appreciate the skill during battles, not before them.

The pointy-earred girl posed a challenge for one reason alone: movement. She was extremely good at changing direction and possibly even better at anticipating...

Gohan dodged a flurry of punches and tried to guess which direction his opponent had gone, where did she expect him to be next? He wasn't powered up. He wasn't flying. It was just a spar. They had an audience, the other kids were watching. They had the safety of the house to consider as well - his mother would kill him if anything happened to the house. They were sparring in the backyard, out in the fields past the garden but before the forest. There wasn't any reason to go ballistic.

The pointy-earred girl... Shirley. She was the hero of the other kids. They'd greeted her like a hero. They'd modified some clothes to fit her and had guarded her while she slept, ate and bathed. Why hadn't anyone trained her to fly? Why didn't she know any energy attacks? Or did she? She hadn't used any energy techniques yet. Just energized attacks... Plain kicks and punchs, with the added benefit of her aura wrapped around them. Her aura seemed thin. It didn't flare out but stayed close to her, like a second skin and was not even able to give off a color of its own. She wasn't strong enough for Gohan to detect easily and in this case, that was working to her advantage. Especially since she could detect him.

Physically, Gohan turned but mentally, he remained stuck on a thought. This noseless, pointy-earred girl... This Shirley. Gohan had learned her age. She was older than him by three years. The battles of the last two years... WHY hadn't ANYONE even MENTIONED her? Who had been training her and why had they stopped? Another warrior at any of those battles... Maybe everything could have been different. How much different, Gohan didn't know.

Gohan did not like being angry but frankly, this whole concept ticked him off. He'd been allowed to feel like such an outcast and for what? Maybe it hadn't been necessary. He thought of the triclops girl and wondered: how many other warriors could there be? And why hadn't these other warriors come to help? And what the heck would it take to make sure that they all came to the battlefield next time? Even a tiny bit of extra help HAD to be better than no extra help.

A memory trigger was pulled and Gohans anger climbed a few notches, taking his aura up with it. He'd felt helpless and alone more than once in past battles. An extra warrior... Another child... If properly trained... Gohan knew that he would have felt more normal, with another child present. He hated to think that perhaps he would have also felt more brave. That he would have been more inclined to act, instead of standing back and watching people die. On Planet Namek, Dendes presence had provided that kind of a boost. But for the battles on Earth...

His awareness of the present moment returned. Gohan was always a bit startled by the way that his own aura could sneak up on him. He was still on the ground but the ground around him was far more flattened than it had been and the ground directly under his feet no longer had any live vegetation growing in it. His energy was a twisted flame of white-orange, stretching upwards.

Shirley was standing a safe distance away with her feet apart and her arms crossed, scowling. She didn't look tired or frightened. "Isn't that kind of a waste?"

Gohan tried to think of an answer for this. Unfortunately, he was soon distracted. He'd always had an active imagination but this... If there was a door, even an imaginary one, to his brain... It was creaking open. Further open. Gohan realized with increasing dread that it probably hadn't been shut or locked. And... There was a strange detached sensation... A sort of unidentified vengeful determination... An unspoken feeling of _you did this to me so NOW it's YOUR turn to suffer _marching in through that door.

The vengeful presence paused, surveyed the contents of Gohans mind, was reminded of the fact that his life DID already include an abundance of suffering, twitched and then ran away screaming. Which was, Gohan decided, a relief but probably not a compliment. He couldn't stop feeling disturbed about the unusual experience.

Shirley didn't notice. "Can't you raise your power without making it visible?" She was asking and she spoke in a tone that made it clear that even though she KNEW that Gohan was stronger, she didn't think he was the better trained. "Or did you want to be a living flashlight?"

Due to his recent shocks, the implications of these words took a moment to register. "Wait..." Gohan had been in enough battles to know that energy detection was not always an accurate science. But... He hadn't thought... This GIRL, of all things? More than ever, he wanted to know who her parents were. Who her teachers had been. And... "So... How much power are you concealing?"

A slightly less vengeful but still determined presence chose this moment to timidly return to Gohans brain. Without being visible, the presence now managed to give the impression that here was someone entering a room with their eyes half-closed as if trying very hard not see anything in the room. So... Someone was in his mind but also trying to ignore the contents of his brain. That was a weird feeling.

_Uhm. Hi. Look, if I were to suggest that you were - for example - very very sleepy...?_

Gohan blinked. He felt perfectly awake.

Shirley seemed to be having her own internal debate. Hers was a solo affair. To power up or not to power up? On the one hand, it was kind of cool that she was doing something that the glowing boy apparently couldn't do. On the other hand... He was still the most powerful. Who the heck had trained him? The lady with the axe? Was that really his mom? Shirley frowned at a mental image of the Crane Master, she'd had a bad teacher. Why couldn't she have had a lady with an axe?

_What about like this... _The unidentified presence seemed to fidget from a distance.

Gohan had the very faint and not-at-all-binding sensation that something had just tried to paralyze him. He narrowed his eyes. Someone - who clearly did not have a lot of practice at attacking from a distance - was going to be kicked, just as soon as he found them. _I may not always guard my mind as well as I should but it's a STRONG mind!_

_... Right..._ The unidentified presence considered its options, hesitated and then blurted out. _By the way, just so you know, SHE thinks you're cute._

It was a total lie and a longshot but it worked on the same principle that a grenade would - you threw it out there and ran for cover. Ranshin knew this and fled from Gohans brain for safety, slamming the proverbial mental door behind her.

She'd not spent too much time actually in Sensei Jitsugens dojo. But the dojo had been full of other students - male and female, kids that came each day before or after school. They'd all been annoying but Ranshin had inadvertantly learned from them. She'd noticed the way that the girls had acted, when they thought a boy was cute and also the way that boys had acted, when they wanted a girls attention. That sort of thing. To Ranshin, these behaviors made no sense - she didn't think anyone was cute - but she had made note of it anyway, in case the information ever proved useful. And so even though the glowing boy didn't seem normal... Ranshin was banking on the idea that his reaction might be normal.

It was.

"...Why are you blushing?" Shirley had spent a large part of her life ripping android prototypes to pieces. She had trained with the Crane Master and had sparred with her genetic siblings. She knew what the word 'blush' meant but only because it was something that she'd read about in a magazine that a Red Ribbon scientist had left laying on a counter one day. There was the faintest hint of concern laced into her voice, as well. Maybe the glowing boy was trying to power up without being so visible? Maybe holding all the energy inside was causing him to change color?

If the word had been a physical object then Gohan might have put on a hazardous waste suit and picked it up with a ten-foot pole. He was six. Cute was a word that Gohan had never taken seriously before. The only people who had ever called him cute were his mother and maybe Bulma. Adults. It was just a word that adults - especially women - used to describe kids and puppies and...

So why did he feel embarrassed? There was a whole mass of other feelings as well - Gohan couldn't begin to describe them. He'd never had to feel them before. It wasn't really fair, he thought, that he should have to feel them all right now. But for some reason, 'cute' seemed to have a whole new complex meaning if it was coming from a person closer to his own age.

"You CAN'T think I'm cute..." Gohan started to protest. Then he realized that he'd spoken aloud something that he had only wanted to think. He covered his face with his arms and gave serious consideration to finding a lonely corner in which to die.

"I can't?" Shirley tried to understand. She had no idea where this discussion had come from. She DIDN'T think that the glowing boy was cute but... Why did HE think that? This had to be some kind of weird distraction. "Is this what normally happens, when you fight? You expect for your opponents to think that you're cute?"

Horror was now running parrallel with the embarrassment in Gohans expression. "NO!"

"Oh. Good. Because you're not cute." Shirley shrugged, pulled a fist back and ran forward. To prove her sincerity she connected with a well-practiced series of attacks that typically, in the labs, detonated an android.

Gohan did not detonate. Emotionally, he might have come close. He had the sense - and reflexes - to block but he didn't return attack. He definitely wasn't as focused as he'd been earlier.

Had she hurt his feelings? Did he want to be cute? Shirley snorted, stepped back, brushed herself off and walked away. There was no good in sparring with him until he recovered his sanity.

The audience of children parted for Shirley and most of them followed her indoors. They were cheering, whispering, giggling and glancing over their shoulders. A small group had stayed behind. Gohan tried to ignore them but was aware of their stares. A quiet "I think he's _kind_ of cute..." was followed by slightly louder "You say that about everyone!" and "He's an alien!" None of this helped Gohans state of mind.

Gohan was shaken and looked to the world of energy for comfort. Yamuchas mansion, he realized, was practically on the other side of the planet. And most of the adults were still there. And long boring meetings about tax forms suddenly sounded like a nice thing to participate in. So what if all the adult warriors had basically told him to stay home? How could he walk into his own house, with that crowd? He would have to call his mother later and she might be upset that he'd left the house but...

It didn't take the space of a heartbeat for Gohan to be an orange streak in the sky. Headed west.

**ooxoo**

**"B**leh." Ranshin slouched to the ground. She didn't know many swearwords that she could pronounce, so bleh would have to do.

She had won. It felt horrible. Because the glowing boy, curse his stupid amounts of power, was right. She hadn't beaten him fairly. She had stopped flying when she'd found the spot where Gohans energy carried his memories - and instead of letting his projected trauma overtake her, she'd entered his unguarded mind. Ranshin hadn't been close enough to use any regular martial arts or even an energy blast. She had read about long-distance hypnosis and had tried to practice telekinesis - but even if she'd been skilled at those things, the glowing boy was too strong. A strong warrior could shrug off telekinesis. A strong warrior, especially one that had already survived life and death battles, knew the value of being alert and wasn't as likely to fall for hypnosis.

"Bleh." Ranshin muttered, wishing that she could pronounce some of the more expressive words that she'd heard the Red Ribbon scientists use.

She was blushing. The trouble with being aware of someone elses mind was that you often became aware of their emotions as well. Gohan had projected the emotion vividly and Ranshin had felt some of it. To have used the word 'cute'... It was a cheap shot. Not a fighting skill. Ranshin knew this. She had ended the battle and had saved her sisters life, probably. That was good. But it wasn't victory. It was cheating. It was a ploy that might never work again.

All her training. All those years of punching holes in android prototypes. All the studying with the Crane Master and then with Sensei Jitsugen and for what? Just so that she could telepathically insert the word 'cute' into someone elses head and embarrass them into losing? What a waste!

Ranshin was flying better than ever and had summoned more energy than she'd thought possible - but she'd only done those things recently and she'd only actually accomplished them while fleeing, which didn't exactly inspire her. She felt humbled. She wanted to do better. There had to be a better - and more fair - way to attack these warriors. There had to be a more _skilled _way. Something that would work every time instead of gambling on how an opponent might choose to react.

A teeny tiny seed of a not-even-fully-conscious-or-coherant idea laid down some roots in the back of Ranshins brain. The metaphoric roots took a specfic form, spelling out a single word. If anyone alive had been able or interested in reading them, they would have read: Shugendo.

Ranshin did not become aware of them. Yet.

She stood, hesitated and looked up. The orange streak had passed directly over her after the battle. Ranshin had kept her energy low. It hadn't been hard. She hadn't needed a lot of energy, to wander into another warriors head. That took more concentration than raw energy. So she'd avoided being detected for the duration of the battle. The orange streak had been moving at a good pace but... That glowing boy was too smart. He was too good at detecting things. He was too fast and way too strong. So even if he was miles away by now... If she took to the sky then the glowing boy would probably detect her, turn around and give her a beating. Ranshin was reluctantly willing to admit that she might even deserve the beating but she wasn't going to take anything that she didn't think she could survive.

Besides, she had another opponent on her mind. And she was dreading that one enough. But it had to be done.

Ranshin walked towards the Son House.

It nearly made her sick to be within sight of the place. There was so much energy imprinted onto everything, so many memories embedded into the physical building. Ranshin had no idea of whether Goku was alive or dead. She'd never seen the legendary Champion of Earth in person. After standing in front of his house, she never wanted to. That's how intense the energy was. And that was without Goku even being there.

She braced herself and walked as if caught in a storm, leaning against strong winds. Without even noticing - her mind caught in the feelings anchored at the location - she began to pull her energy into a shield. She was a trembling ball of light by the time she reached the doorstep. She knocked.

The front door creaked open. Several pairs of eyes stared at her. Ranshin stood before them, a frightened little triclops engulfed in an eerie whirling pale green light. The door slammed. Shouting and shuffling could be heard on the other side. The only word Ranshin heard clearly was the word 'alien'.

_Where? _Ranshin wondered nervously. Then she realized. _Oh... _And powered down a bit.

Shirley opened the door. She was bandaged but had gotten cleaned up since Ranshin had last seen her and was now wearing clothes that were mostly orange. A few bruises were forming, the result of her recent spar with the glowing boy. "Go away. You're scaring people." Shirley grumbled. "And I don't care to talk to you." She started to close the door.

Ranshin stuck a foot into the doorway. "I know. I was stupid to run off and..."

"FLY off." Shirley corrected, pushing Ranshin backwards so that the doorway was clear. She did a head-to-foot glance and then sighed, frustrated. "I went out of my way to take care of you and you left me behind. And it must not have been stupid because you're okay. You've healed and you've got new clothes. I can see that." Shirley frowned, focusing on Ranshins new tunic. Trying to read the symbols there. Wondering why a certain one was missing. There was noise behind her. Aware that the other kids were listening, Shirley continued. "I belong here, now. These kids need me."

Ranshin nodded. It made perfect sense. Shirley had always been one of the leaders, even before she'd been the eldest and the strongest of the genetic children - she'd always been a protector. She was more comfortable with a group around. And if these other kids had demonstrated some kind of loyalty to Shirley then she wouldn't betray them. Ranshin knew better than to ask. So the best thing would be to try and get this over with quickly.

"Proto4A is dead." Ranshin winced, struggling to remain calm when the energy of the Son House surrounded her. The other kids in the house - none of them guarded their minds very well but in the wake of the power that this building had absorbed, Ranshin was barely aware of their memories. She didn't lower her voice. "She was killed by Android 10. I've dealt with him. I thought you deserved to know. If ANY of our other siblings are alive, please tell me."

There was chatter now, behind Shirley. "Proto what?" and "Android?" were being whispered, along with "Sibling? That means, like, sister - doesn't it? Shirley has an alien sister?"

Shirley glared at the other kids. They fell silent. She glared at her sister. Ranshin didn't flinch.

It was a glare that confirmed that Shirley didn't know if any of the others were alive. A flicker of memory played in Shirleys head. It was Shirleys last memory of her genetic siblings. Ranshin saw the memory and watched it. There had been fight and an escape and the genetic children had split up. Proto9A, the boy with the white tail and Proto2A, the girl maniac of all things sharp had flown off in one direction. 4A had flown off in another direction. 6A had run off, at a groundspeed that none of her peers could match. 7A... Had run off as well and had eventually become Shirley.

_So you feel like all of them have abandoned you, too._ Ranshin understood now why Shirley didn't seem too interested in seeking out the group that she'd once felt responsible for.

"The Crane Master is also dead." Ranshin said, her tone remaining empty even as her mind filled. "I don't think I can avenge him. It's hard to explain why." Ranshin paused. She wanted to try and explain anyway, for her own sake as much as anyone elses. She wanted to think of way to say that the Crane Master had been killed by Sensei Jitsugen, who was a moderately nice man. A person who had also trained her. And so if she killed her new teacher in order to avenge her old teacher... Then how would she be able to avenge her new teacher, without doing herself harm? Because you couldn't just avenge one teacher and not avenge another, right? Honor wasn't a pick-and-choose thing, not even if the Crane Master had thought so. Really, the whole avenging business didn't seem sensible anymore.

The words for this weren't coming to her, so Ranshin skipped the explanation and moved on. She continued to meet her sisters glare. "He trained you first, Shirley. And he trained you for five years, before I was even there. So if there's anything you know that I don't about the Crane style... I might need to know. Please consider telling me."

"Why?" Shirley stood like a person who was pretty well convinced that if they took a step outside, they'd find the door locked behind them. She wasn't psychic and couldn't read minds but she could imagine what the other kids were thinking of this conversation. They were going to have questions. Shirley had helped the group and had listened to them but she hadn't told them much about herself. She wasn't sure if telling them the truth would do her any good. Would they think that she was weird? That was understandable. She WAS weird. But would they not want her around anymore? That was not an option Shirley wanted to dwell on.

"I've detonated Android 11." Ranshin said, after a few moments. She was aware that Shirley had noticed the absence of the Crane mark on her new tunic and was determined to justify her interest in Crane techniques. "But 12 might still be out there. And Red Ribbon is still out there."

Now the other kids were stepping forward. They weren't hiding behind furniture or looking for something to arm themselves with. A clamor of voices all said at once. "Red Ribbon?" THIS was something they'd heard of. On television. And in newspapers. And in stories. And in threats. Because for the last thirteen years almost every parent on Earth had muttered, at some point, that if a kid didn't behave or study or do their chores then they would end up just like the bad people in the Red Ribbon Army.

A chorus of alternating young voices put together this spontaneous short wave of continuous sound: "The big army of criminals, right?" "They couldn't have been very tough, to name their army after ribbons..." "I heard stories about them!" "What did they ever do, that was bad?" "Weren't they're supposed to be like, pirates?" "I heard they were car salesmen." "I heard they were spies!" "I think we read about it in history class once..." "I miss school." "I would have named it the Red Sword Army or..." "Aren't they all dead?" "Yes!" "No!" "My pa said they were dead. Some news reporters found their whole base just blown up and..." "But wasn't there that weird guy at the World Palace? He was on the news a lot." "Which weird guy?" "ALL adults are weird." "Or maybe I would have named it the Red Tiger..." "If they're all dead, it's not an army anymore. Right? Unless they're zombies..." "Zombies are so cool! I used to have a game where..." "Zombies are scary! Didn't you see that movie where..." "Wait. The weird guy in the funny hat? The one that's on TV a lot?" "Which weird guy in the funny hat? There are a lot of them on TV..." "The tall hat! With lots of feathers! Kind of fuzzy?" "No! That's the guy from the cartoon channel!" "The cartoon channel comes from the World Palace?" "Uhm. Maybe?" "Oh. Well. What about the guy in the short hat? And he always sits behind a curtain?" "No, that's the Emperor!" "I bet he likes cartoons!" "Or maybe I would have named it the Blue..." "Yea, why does it have to be Red Ribbon?" "I like pink better!" "I like purple!" "No! The other weird guy, the one who wanted to build a way to defend the world from aliens? Something like that? I don't think he had a funny hat." "But defending the world from aliens doesn't sound like a bad thing..."

Shirley and Ranshin both stared at the growing debate. This was more than they'd ever heard anyone say about the Red Ribbon Army in their lives and they'd been created by it.

"Uhm..." Ranshin tried to ignore the feeling that somehow, the house was smirking. The energy of the place gave it a strange level of near-awareness. She looked past Shirley and figured that answering some questions would be a good way to earn trust. "I don't know why it was called Red Ribbon. I don't know if it's really an army. I don't know if they're all dead, some of them might be. I don't know about funny hats. All I know is that they can build robots and the robots have killed children."

The group was skeptical. None of their parents had mentioned this, in their idle threats. One of the children spoke up. "How do you know that?"

"Because I'm one of the kids that the robots have tried to kill." said Ranshin. It was a drastic simplification of her own early history but it was basically true. She pointed at Shirley. "And so is she." Ranshin decided to go for extra credit. She knew that Shirley didn't want to be outcast from the group so she added. "We're not sisters. We just call each other that because we've fought together. We've been in a lot of fights. That's why we're so strong."

Shirley hrmphed, flicked her ears and went to sit down inside. It was a gesture that said: 'Okay, you're forgiven. For now.' She left the door open, which Ranshin took as a good sign but she remained on the doorstep. The energy was strong enough outdoors. Ranshin felt like she might faint from energy overload if she went in.

The other kids were accepting the answers more easily now. They appreciated how strong Shirley was - they'd seen that much for themselves. It made sense to them, that her above average strength came from weird circumstances. It made them feel like they didn't have to try so hard, to match her. When they'd thought that Shirley was just a normal kid wandering in the ruins of their city... They were normal kids, too. Some of them had been competitive and others had wanted to mimic their new idol - and they couldn't. Now that they had been told... It made sense. All their heros on television and in comic books and video games, those characters had come from weird circumstances too. That was just how heros got their power.

Ranshin wasn't sure what to say now. She knew that she wanted to confront Red Ribbon but she had mixed feelings about why. She knew that she wanted to confront the warriors of the Earths Special Forces but she didn't plan on doing that anytime soon. There were a lot of friends - and siblings - that she needed to check on but she didn't know where to even begin looking for them and wasn't sure how many were still alive.

Shirley sat on a couch with her legs crossed and hands loosely folded. "I can't train you much." She said quietly. "But there might be a couple things about the Crane style that he showed me and that he never got around to showing you."

The normal kids were being affected by the energy of the area and they were starting to think: 'Hey, you know, we're not really so normal anymore. Maybe we can be heros, too.' They had survived the dark clouds. They had walked out of their city. The older ones had also survived the invading aliens. One of the very eldest of this group, he'd survived the invading aliens _twice_. A lone alien warrior had landed on the boys familys farm, about two years ago and had killed his father. So his family had sold the farm and had moved to East Capital City, where they had - about a year ago - watched a pair of aliens land and vaporize their neighbors.

"Ah... Couldya train me, as well?" Asked the boy. His name was Nary. He was thinking: _I must have survived all that for a reason. My own father was stronger than me and he had a rifle with him and he was a good shot - but he died before he could pull the trigger. He died before he could even scream. That dang stupid alien..._

"I want to be trained, too." This was from the charismatic leader of the no-longer-wandering children. He was the one who had motivated them so many times. He had talked the kids into forming the group in the first place. He'd talked others out of hiding and had gotten them to join. He had kept their spirits up, while they'd walked. He was a good leader. He could listen, as well. He was trusted with many secrets by now and had sorted out disagreements. Shirley was the protector of the group but this boy was the glue that kept it functional. He'd mentioned his name at some point but they all called him Words. Because he was pretty skilled, just with those.

"Mom..." Said one of the older girls and then she corrected herself. "Mrs. Son, the nice lady with the axe. She already called my parents and they're coming and I love them but... I don't want to go home. I don't ever want to live in a city again. And all of you guys are like family to me now, I don't want to leave. And if we can get stronger then... Maybe we can feel safe again and..."

She didn't have to say that even though Mrs. Son was an amazing and dedicated person, they wouldn't all be able to reunite with their parents. More than a few in this group had witnessed their parents die. One of them, a smaller boy, had been playing across the street in front of a friends house. His mother had come to the window, had called his name. She'd probably been about to say that he should come in for a meal. Then there had been a wave of light and heat. And then his house was gone. Not even a brick or shingle or fragment of glass left behind. Just scorched land.

Shirley had heard these stories - and worse. She'd walked with the children. She knew them. They'd named her, if only by accident. She had planned on protecting this group. She had taught them a few things about surviving. But she hadn't really thought about training them. Because most of her training had been against android prototypes. Where was she going to find androids for these kids to punch? She didn't want to have to go back to Red Ribbon. The adults there had guns and bombs, among other things. These kids were tough but they were not immune to explosives.

Although... That strange glowing boy might be immune to explosives...

Ranshin saw the plan taking shape in her sisters head and didn't like it - but didn't have a better one. It was goal, something to work towards. And it might net her some answers. And Ranshin was determined not to run away anymore.

"Fine." Shirley announced to the group. "We can all train." She looked pointedly at Ranshin in a 'you are gonna help me because this is for you, too' way and was privately surprised by the lack of protest from her sister. "We'll just have to get some things first."

There was a mixed response. Most - but not all - of the kids wanted to train. Some of them were too young, some of them were still too injured and some of them DID want to be reunited with their relatives eventually. More than a few wanted to stay with the nice lady with the axe, even if that also meant putting up with an evil alien. Some of them argued that Gohan didn't really seem all that evil. Shirley listened to the conflicting responses and glanced towards their leader. So Words took care of it. He got the children to line up and speak one at a time. He reassured anyone that didn't want to stay with the group or who didn't want to train that it was okay. He stopped arguments, countered insults and was consistantly reasonable. He made everyone feel heard and got them to make peace. The children who didn't want to train were sad to contemplate parting from their friends but, thanks to Words, were not allowed to be made to feel like cowards. The ones who did want to train were excited about the idea of becoming heros but were not allowed to be too proud. Words had the sense to warn them that training would probably be difficult.

He really had no idea how difficult.

**ooxoo**


	23. History: November 14th, 763 A

_**Eclipse**_

**by DoraMouse**

**ooxoo**

**History: November 14th, 763 A.D.**

**O**ne of the main problems with waking up in a mansion was that - especially if you didn't actually live in a mansion - it was hard to be certain that you weren't still dreaming. Kuririn spent a few moments admiring the room and wondering why he'd never become a professional athlete. He'd always meant to get a good career, even moreso after his first reincarnation. He'd been seventeen back then. He'd been eager to show how grateful he was to be alive again and determined to accomplish something worthwhile. He'd wanted to do more than hang around the Kame House, writing books on energy combat and occasionally trying to save the world. Kuririn yawned and stretched. He was always kind of relieved, just to wake up. His first reincarnation had been ten years ago. His second reincarnation had been one year ago. Waking up... Every time... It reminded him of how being reincarnated felt.

And what had he done? In spite of all the good intentions and renewed appreciation for life, Kuririn felt that he hadn't changed much.

He really didn't want to believe that trying to save the world was going to be his sole life profession. He just didn't know what else he was good at yet. Kuririn had a lot of different interests but... When you lived around someone who was over the age of three hundred, that tended to affect your views on commitment. What kind of job did you want to be stuck with, in case you lived for that long? There wasn't one. Plus Kuririn honestly had no idea if he would live past the age of thirty - an age which was now just under three years off for him - and that tended to make looking for a career seem kind of pointless, as well.

Living on a small tropical island was not a bad deal. Work didn't seem like something that Kuririn needed to do. Master Roshi could afford to support everyone at the island and seemed content to do so, as long as Kuririn didn't mind being a live-in maid and chef. And Kuririn wasn't sure what kind of work he was willing to try anymore. He'd wanted to become so many things, when he was younger. If only searching for work wasn't so much of a hassle. The applications and the interviews and all that. It just put him off. And the lies, all the false claims that a company would make. That was an ugly snare as well. How was a person supposed to feel about themselves at the end of the day, if they couldn't even trust the company that they worked for?

Interviews were the worst part. People would mock him for being short, being bald, having the incense burns on his forehead and not having a nose. Employers would ask questions about his family which Kuririn didn't know how to answer. He didn't remember a lot about his parents. They would ask about his work experience and he'd try to explain about being a monk and then saving the world. They'd ask what he'd been doing, during the times between saving the world. Kuririn had tried to impress them with training stories. They'd accuse of him lying. He'd offer to prove his skill. If the potential employer accepted the offer of a demonstration then they were usually too stunned and scared to give him the work afterwards. If they declined the demonstration, they would ask for his references. Kuririn had lost a few jobs just by virtue of having Master Roshi as a reference - the old master was sometimes considered mythical, so people just decided it was a bad joke and threw the application away. Roshi was also considered a pervert, even in the places where he was regarded as fiction. So being associated with Roshi did not seem to create the right impression for getting work.

Even without Roshi as one of his references... For the past fourteen years Kuririn had stubbornly refused to list any address other than the Kame House - which was also widely considered fictional, apparently - as home. This had earned him a few referrals to counselors.

Laying here in a nice spacious mansion, Kuririn thought that maybe moving out of the Kame House would be a good idea. He could get his own address and then get a job.

Except... His first death, that had been a matter of days. You could get away with not mentioning that kind of a gap on a job application. But his second death had lasted for closer to half a year. If Kuririn went in search of work now... Given his luck... Employers would be bound to ask. And how could he explain that he'd been dead? And that battle against the Saiyans... If only Vegeta and Nappa had landed in a desert or a lake or anywhere but a large city. Maybe they wouldn't have caught the attention of the media. Maybe that whole battle wouldn't have been broadcast. Any employer in the world who had paid attention to the news would be bound to recognize Kuririn now. They'd be scared of him without even needing the demonstration. They might even be angry at him for not having prevented more of the damage. Probably they would lecture him about his failure to defend the planet - perhaps even while their company was off dumping toxic waste into the ocean or something.

Company policies were standard fare, Kuririn understood, but the laws of industry generally didn't seem to capture the idea that life was precious. Now that he'd been given a second and third chance... Kuririn had gotten more picky about ambition. He wasn't going to settle for a random job with some company that disagreed with all his principles. He wanted to find a place that he could respect. And the standards he had, they weren't easy to live up to. Which was another reason that his searches had been discouraging.

Besides, he couldn't leave the Kame House until he figured out who had attempted to kill Master Roshi.

Kuririn stretched again and sat up. He was surprised to feel dizzy and have his vision blur. That wasn't a normal part of waking up for him.

A blue-grey blur sat near the foot of the bed. The energy registered before the blurriness cleared. Puar. And she was upset. She didn't look hurt but she radiated it. And there was a baseball bat next to her and... "Oh." Puar uncurled and blinked at him. "Hi." She was doing a marvelous job of keeping the sadness that currently tainted her energy out of her voice. "Hangon." She lifted the baseball bat - which had to be at least three times her length - with ease, carrying it with one paw. She darted down to the floor.

Kuririn watched a baseball get tossed into the air and then swatted out of the room. He began to wonder why Puar was not a professional athlete.

There was a metallic swish in the hallway. Followed by grumbling. It was a very familiar set of sounds to anyone who'd heard a samurai being woken up before.

Kuririn was still dizzy but his mind was racing to interpret all of this. If Puar was here... And Yamucha wasn't... Maybe an argument? But if Yamucha had left... Even if Yajirobe was standing guard... And maybe Puar was sad for another reason...

Somewhere deep down, for less than a split second, Kuririn panicked. And was offended. Both at once. What if the world was endangered? It was not pleasant to think that a shapeshifter with a baseball bat and a grumpy samurai were perhaps all that had stood between Kuririn and death number three. He appreciated his friends but he would have expected them to wake him or at least to guard him better or...

Two energy signatures elsewhere in the mansion took this moment to register in Kuririns jumbled brain. One of them was Gohan, which pretty much caused all of Kurirns paranoia to dissolve. Gohan would not be here if the world was endangered. The other energy signature belonged to Chaozu. _But didn't he have appointments with lawyers?_

Yajirobe had entered the room. His sword - which he'd always used for chopping things off of people - was now decorated with a baseball. "What the heck are these things made of?" He demanded, clearly irritated that the object had not just been sliced neatly in half. Then he noticed Kuririn. "Oh... Uhm. So... Are you going to stay awake, this time?"

It was beginning to dawn on Kuririn that there was a rather recent gap in his memory. He took a moment to check himself. He was still dressed and didn't feel hurt. He didn't look hurt, either. No bruises or scars or scratches. He flexed his fingers, waved his arms and glanced around. His energy wasn't bad. What could have...?

"You've been out for two days." Yajirobe informed him, with his typical bluntness. "It was a poison-based sedative."

Puar dropped the baseball bat and hopped back up onto the foot of the bed - which was, Kuririn hated to see, nowhere near his own feet. He didn't mind that Puar had space but it seemed like even the furniture was taunting him, sometimes. Everything was made for taller people. Puar forced a smile and wrapped her tail around her paws. "Most sedatives are poison-based. Good thing I took some chemistry classes at the Academy. Wasn't hard to cure. You must have just been really tired, for the effects to last this long."

Two days? This was not good news. So many things could happen, in that amount of time! Any amount of awful things! Destroying a planet hadn't taken Freezia... Kuririn knew that he'd been a bit sleep deprived lately and tried to reign in his customary panic. He demanded that his brain show him a memory of what he'd last seen before passing out. His brain refused. Chaozus energy had not changed but Kuririn suddenly wondered...

_No, I'm not blocking anything. You really were that tired. And it was about an hour before Puar had the antidote made for you and it took a few tries to get you to keep the stuff down - so maybe there was some minor damage to your memory before the antidote could take effect._

Kuririn did not feel inclined to accept telepathic explanations right at this moment. Chaozu was supposed to be able to predict the future and so why hadn't he noticed and... Wait. The antidote had taken Puar an hour? Some tiny little cat that he hardly knew had devoted an entire hour to saving his life? But, she'd just said that it was easy and... How could it have taken so long, if it was easy?

"Not too steady yet, huh?" Yajirobe was pulling him into a standing position. Kuririn wondered when he'd fallen. His legs didn't seem to be awake.

_... Go back to sleep, if you want to. _Chaozu insisted. _You're going to need your strength._

Kuririn did not like hearing this, not even mentally. It meant that there was bad news.

_Actually, the news is not all bad - it's not all good, either but... We can talk about that later. The future isn't always as predictable as one might like. What I meant, though... Kuririn, you are going to need your strength. Because if Gohan figures out that you are awake then he will probably come up there and hug you. And if you are not in decent condition when that happens, we will be taking you to a hospital. That's all._

"Oh..." Kuririn appreciated the clarity but didn't like his options. He didn't want to go back to bed and also didn't want to stay awake just to hear bad news. He wasn't sure how to feel about being in the same room with a cat that - whether or not Puar knew it - had done an amazingly nice thing for him but he also wasn't sure if he could survive leaving the room and risking a hug from the strongest creature on the planet.

"- out of senzu until next month." Yajirobe finished, oblivious of all the telepathy and drama. He was half-dragging and half-carrying Kuririn around the room. They had walked a wide semi-circle, Yajirobe clearly had the hope that Kuririn would begin supporting his own weight at any moment now.

Kuririn wasn't. He would have liked to stand on his own feet but his legs weren't cooperating.

"I don't understand..." Puars voice and energy had changed. She was radiating intense concern instead of sadness now. "It shouldn't have targeted the nerves..." She flew out of the room and could soon be heard attacking the contents of a bookshelf.

A faint memory stirred. Something about books. That was what Kuririn had been doing, before all this. His more immediate concern, however, was what the hell was going on and why wasn't he able to walk?

_**...FLY.**_

The strength with which Chaozu issued the mental command was startling. The fact that Kuririns system responded to it was also startling.

"Guess that's one way to avoid disability." Yajirobe remarked, from the hallway where'd been blown by the aura.

"...guess so." Kuririn hovered. He was thinking quite a lot of things that, honestly, did not belong in the same house as a six year old. But Gohan was there at the mansion anyway and of course the energy was going to get the kids attention... And really, it was all that Kuririn could do, to survive the hug. He didn't resent the show of friendship - it was nice to missed - but he abruptly wasn't sure WHY Gohan was here. They'd told the kid to stay home, hadn't they? Did his mother know he was here? Being hunted down and killed by ChiChi was not the type of concern that Kuririn cared to add to his current list. "Uhm..."

"Why are girls mean?" Gohan released his friend from the embrace. His tone was... Sulky?

_No. Way. _Kuririn was further shocked. Gohan had seen some awful things in his young life and had never complained much. The kid had been scared - rightfully so, in most cases - and had also been hesitant, confused, guilt-ridden, brave or sometimes angry. But sulking? This couldn't be happening.

Kuririn was grappling with the question and trying to think of way to answer or - better yet - avoid it when Puar returned to the doorway. Her ears were more flattened back than Kuririn had thought physically possible. Her eyes were brimming with tears. She was holding a book open and couldn't bring herself to speak very loudly. Her voice was a distraught whisper.

"... I... messed up..."

She actually shrank. Puar shapeshifted into a near-microscopic version of her own form and flew away. The book that she'd been holding dropped to the ground. It was the kind of book that, even without reading it, gave the impression that every page between these covers contained a warning. Probably in bold print. To remind people that mixing chemicals could be hazardous and that even a small and unintentional mistake to these measurements could have dire consequences.

Kuririns heart sank. She'd tried to do an amazingly nice thing for him... But something must have been distracting her. He didn't want to be angry but he was. He knew that blaming people wasn't going to make him feel better - and it didn't.

_... Err. I can induce paralysis with telekinesis. So there's a chance that I can also reverse nerve damage with telekinesis. _Chaozu did not seem to be having a great day either. He gave the impression of being downstairs and being upset. _We need to wait until you've been awake for about an hour though. Because I would prefer not to try this until we're absolutely sure that you won't recover on your own. Drink a whole lot of water and see if you can't flush the stuff out. THEN we'll talk about everything else._

"What the HECK..." Kuririn started, he had run out of patience and was wanting to kick the world in general but was currently unable to do so.

"How old are you again?" Yajirobe was speaking to Gohan.

Gohan was tuning into the fact that something seemed to be wrong with Kuririns health. He spoke to the samurai without looking away from his friend. "I'm six."

Yajirobe considered this. "And you only just now found out that girls are mean?"

Chaozu was back in Kuririns mind. _The problem is, if I try to tell you the short version then you'll want to hear the long version._

**ooxoo**

**T**he simple answer was the wrong one. It was a glitch. Android 12 wasn't able to fix it. Because she didn't know what was really wrong. Because the error message only told her that it was a technical difficulty and it wasn't. It couldn't be. She'd checked everything. Twice. More than twice. All the circuits and wires and computer chips. All the gears and bolts and armor. She'd checked them repeatedly. They were in perfect working order.

It was a non-technical difficulty. It was the human part, that was broken.

She stood over what was now Android 11. She'd repaired him as best she could with tools that she'd bought, found, stolen and - in some cases - made. The recent disasters of the world had served her well. There were plenty of abandoned buildings. She had been careful, never staying too long in one place. She had been able to keep her work a secret. No one had bothered her. No one had questioned her. Red Ribbon hadn't hunted her down for her betrayal.

She'd walked out of the Red Ribbon labs twenty-five days ago. It wasn't the first time that she had been in the outside world. She'd been designed to visit the outside world. To gather information.

Every android had a purpose. Androids one through seven had been cleaning tools, they hadn't even started looking humanoid or having speech much before Android 5. Android 8 had been a guard and had defected from his mission. Android 9 had been a janitor, secretary, lab assistant and the unofficial babysitter of the genetic children. Android 10 had been the first to have a lot of built-in weapons. Androids 11 and 12 had each been designed to resemble someone else. Because looking like certain people made the task of gathering information about them much easier. 11 had been a handsome young man with long dark hair - humans had often mistaken him for a certain sports celebrity and warrior. Meanwhile Android 12 had been able to pass for Bulma Briefs. Even though she had, in an ambitious attempt to blend in with humanity and gather even more information, picked out a different name for herself. Maron.

She didn't look that way, anymore. Maron wouldn't ever be mistaken for Bulma again. Androids didn't need to sleep. She could have been working constantly on the repairs. But... She hadn't. Maron had taken a few short breaks. She had dyed her hair and cut it. Had tried many different colors and styles - braids, pigtails, ponytails, buns, curls, even dreadlocks. Playing with her hair seemed to relax her mind. Or at least, the organic parts of her mind. Her internal computers... It was a breakthrough. She could work around them.

There was a toaster in her makeshift lab. She would plug it into the remains of Android 11, sometimes. To check the circuits. Make sure there was an electrical current. There was. Enough to make toast with. Androids didn't need to eat but it was wasteful to throw the bread out and androids were not wasteful. So she would eat. Whenever her internal computers started to issue errors, she would turn the source of their errors into a mathematical problem. If her computers said that she shouldn't care about her hair then she'd challenge herself to figure out the precise ratio of hair dye to shampoo. She'd measure each strand. She'd measure everything. If her computerized brain started to complain about the toast, she'd calculate the temperature of the bread or count the number of bites that it took to eat the toast or...

Her internal computers liked math. As long as she was counting things, she could pacify them and avoid the flood of errors.

Maron had changed more than just her hair color and style. Her limited diet of toast and water had caused her to become petite. Some of her bolts were showing through her metallic skin. She had experimented in all kinds of clothing styles, too. And she was wearing glasses. Just the frames, no lenses. Her vision was perfect. She didn't need glasses. She just thought the frames looked good on her. She could count the ways in which they looked good on her. She had tried on contacts, to change the color and shape of her eyes. She had dabbled in self-tattooing and now had an odd number of small floral drawings around one ankle. They were not badly drawn. Art could involve a lot of math.

She had stitches.

Repairing an android was a strange prospect, for another android. Maron had never understood the word 'squeamish' before. She was starting to understand. When you looked down at something familiar and could see all the guts... It was probably only natural, to start thinking about your own guts.

Android 11 had been detonated. His internal bomb had gone off. One of those pesky genetic brats, may death find them all, had gotten to him. But the point was that even though 11 had blown up and had ceased to function - the explosion hadn't completely destroyed him. And it hadn't completely removed all traces of the bomb, either. So at first it had seemed logical, for Maron to cut herself open. She'd only wanted to compare her internal parts - she did still have a bomb - to all the wires sticking out of 11 and...

It hadn't hurt. It couldn't have hurt. Her computers didn't know how to feel hurt. But she'd winced, anyway.

She'd made sure that all the wires and fragments from the exploded bomb were taken out of 11. But she hadn't been willing to risk removing the bomb from herself. The live explosive remained under her stitches.

It wasn't fair.

She began counting other things that weren't fair.

Humans knew how to build androids. That didn't seem fair, either. Why should a human be able to do something that an android couldn't? Maron had seen what the process was like. She was a result of the process. She knew what needed to be done but...

When she turned on the switches, Android 11 just lay there. The lights came on, the circuits hummed with power and the computers would run tests - but he was a hollow shell. He didn't move or speak. There wasn't any indication that he could hear. Did he need to have a bomb inside, to be functional? Maron had considered that. She'd done the repairs as best she could. She'd built a mock-bomb to take the place of the original. She'd rebuilt and patched the other internal parts damaged by the explosion. She'd tweaked his programming. But thus far, all her efforts had ended with the same result. A flashing message in a digital font on a tiny computer screen inside 11s skull: technical difficulty.

Every android had a purpose...

_What is mine, now?_ Maron wondered.

She answered herself immediately. Her purpose was to repair Android 11. This wasn't the mission that the Red Ribbon Army had designed her for, it was a challenge she'd given herself. Maybe that wasn't good enough? Maybe it was wrong, to pick her own purpose? But even if it wasn't wrong... Even if she did manage to get 11 back in working order... Then what would her next purpose be? And what about 11, what would his next purpose be?

Maybe that's what was missing. Maybe 11 wouldn't be able to come alive until she programmed him with a reason to live.

She sat on a crumbling counter, staring at the sprawled corpse. Counting all the things she didn't understand. How did humans make these kinds of decisions?

**ooxoo**

**C**haozu hovered on the opposite side of the room. "Can you read it now?"

A moment ago, he'd held the scroll perhaps less than inch away from Kuririns face. The scroll, in this little exercise, represented the future. Showing people was sometimes the best way to make them understand. The future was not a small thing. There was a LOT of future to see. Some of it was close and would happen soon. Some of it was far away and might not even actually happen. A skilled psychic could see either - and on a bad day, both.

"Uhm. You mean on a good day...?" Kuririn ventured, once this explanation had been given. He wasn't feeling much better but he'd calmed down.

"No. I mean on a bad day." said Chaozu, who had recovered some of his own calm and had reverted to a level of bluntness that rivaled Yajirobes typical candor. He rolled the scroll up and drifted back to his seat. "I haven't seen the entire future but not much of what I have seen qualifies as good."

Kuririn drank some water and chose to let this cynicism pass without further comment. It was easy to believe that future was going to be awful. The recent past had been awful. It seemed to be a pattern.

They were sitting downstairs in the main gathering room of the mansion. The gap in Kuririns memories had vanished as soon as he'd set foot in the room again. He'd remembered working on the formulas with Tenshinhan and... Now Tenshinhan was gone. So were all the books and folders. All the documented attacks... Kuririns whole lifes work, all his inventions for energy combat - gone. And Master Roshis whole series! And... Kuririn wasn't sure if he would have made copies for anyone. But the idea that someone he'd been willing to trust had just knocked him out and stolen things...

The books and folders were safe. Chaozu had already promised to get all of the documents back. He had a fair idea of where they were hidden but he wasn't going to be able to retrieve them right away. In the meantime, as collateral, he'd offered to loan Kuririn a set of ancient scrolls.

Master Mutaito had lived before the invention of books.

Kuririn was still astounded by the peace offering. "Where did you even GET these? Did the Crane Master...?"

"No. Those are from my ancestors." Chaozu didn't have to add any emphasis to this. He'd survived an ugly political revolution - there hadn't been much time to pack. Very few things in his former empire, nevermind the palace, had not been destroyed. The fact that he'd never mentioned these scrolls before added to the notion that he clearly placed a lot of value on them. "Mutaito was respected during his own life. People didn't always understand him but they respected him. He was hired to do public speaking and sometimes to be a tutor to the wealthy. He was known for always handing out copies of his writing. Because he wanted to create interest and make people aware of his theories. History remembers Mutaito as being passionate about promoting the use of energy for self-defense."

The scrolls were more antique advertisements than anything else. The Crane Master and Master Roshi - they probably hadn't bothered to keep copies of their senseis dojo recruitment posters. They'd been alive to listen and study with Mutaito. They'd done their own writing. Students tended to sometimes take their teacher for granted, Kuririn knew. However Chaozus distant ancestors had assembled a collection of the scroll-posters, had gone to Mutaitos lectures and had taken notes. The scrolls were rolled up properly, with the poster image on the inside. On the outside, all down the back of each poster... Was some faded but ancient handwriting. It was written neatly but wasn't totally legible, in the sense that the language it had been written _in_ was no longer widely used. Kuririn was glad that he'd been made to study ancient languages with the monks. He might be able to translate these.

Kuririn almost hated to accept them, though. He didn't have a lot of memories of his own childhood and certainly didn't have any nifty heirlooms covered in the handwriting of personal ancestors who'd lived three hundred years ago. He recognized that Chaozu was entrusting him with something that was beyond priceless and vowed to take good care of the scrolls.

A lot HAD happened in the past two days.

Tenshinhan had taken all the books and folders detailing energy combat. In retrospect Kuririn could not believe how completely off-guard he'd been. He should have realized... Tenshinhan had a competitive streak - they'd all seen it before. And the triclops was, whether or not Kuririn approved of his ethics, exceptionally good at battle strategy. He'd invented some powerful techniques but... None, recently. The last invention that Tenshinhan had shown them in battle was the ShinKikouhou, the perfection of a blast that he'd originally invented before they had even known him. Beyond that.. The triclops had used some fairly freaky techniques during the 23rd Budoukai, eleven years ago but... The ability to grow an extra set of arms and the ability to split one body into four bodies - were those true energy techniques? Were they even true attacks? They seemed more like battle skills - things that would enhance an attack but that weren't attacks by themselves. They seemed to hinge more on body distortion, something closer to shapeshifting. Not really in the same category as throwing energy around.

So Tenshinhan probably WAS working on developing something new and... And then Kuririn had just put all kinds of information about energy combat right in front of him. All those folders assembled from the battles that Kuririn had witnessed but that Tenshinhan had been dead for...

_Like setting a feast in front of someone who is starving. Why was I so careless? _Kuririn admitted that he could almost understand where the inspiration for stealing the records had come from. If things had been the other way around... If Kuririn had been the one sitting there with a pile of new resources right in front of him... Yea. He might have been tempted to do the same. He would have wanted to study the techniques. But the whole POINT of keeping written records was so that ANYONE could study them. So stealing and hiding everything... Was selfish. It was arrogant. It was like declaring that nobody else should be allowed to know things if you didn't.

If Kuririn crossed the assassins path anytime soon - even if he did get every single piece of paper back - there was going to be fight about this. And then another fight, with the attached moral lesson that sedating people was not nice. And then a good solid beating for...

_Who am I kidding? If I go after him, THAT'S when he'll show a new attack. _Kuririn had a temper but it tended to be short lived. He had his life to consider. Staying mad wasn't healthy. Sinking to someone elses level didn't make things right. Picking a fight with a skilled and trained killer was not usually a great plan. It was something that Goku could get away with - and Kuririn wasn't Goku. Kuririn was a warrior who had already died twice and so courting death number three... Nobody would be able to bring him back, from that. The Eternal Dragons didn't like redundant wishes, they wouldn't reincarnate him again. That's what Kuririn believed. So Kuririn hadn't left the mansion.

But Tenshinhan had also lifted a significant portion of paperwork from Yajirobe. The Mutaito clan family tree, in particular. If the legendary Master Mutaito DID have any living descendants, as Master Roshi had claimed... Then they might not be able to remain among the living for a whole lot longer. It depended on what Tenshinhans plans were. Given the triclops past as an assassin, Kuririn could not feel optimistic.

Yamucha and Yajirobe had tried to prevent all of this but had ended up surrendering. Kuririn was the reason why. The samurai and former bandit couldn't protect all the papers AND their sedated friend - so they'd reluctantly handed over the papers. Tenshinhan had done enough of a powerup to scare off most of the stray animals and had departed.

_So it's all my fault..._ Kuririn seemed to have a knack for reducing most scenarios to this conclusion. For once, though, it was not a complete exaggeration. He'd let his guard down.

There was someone else who could have prevented it, too. Even if he hadn't seen this future coming. But if Chaozu had been at the mansion... Which side would he have taken?

Two days ago, Chaozu had gone out to meet with lawyers. Puar had gone with him, claiming an interest in law. He had spoken to the people and she had spoken to their pets. Apparently, more than few lawyers kept cats around their offices. While Chaozu had been learning that the legal case against Red Ribbon might be delayed, Puar had been asked out. They had returned to the mansion after a full day of appointments, distracted and preoccupied for very different reasons. Unaware of what had recently happened there.

Yamucha had not been having a good week. There had already been a lot of bad and weird news in recent days. Plus he'd just had to surrender in a fight that had taken place in his own home and against someone that he'd considered a friend, all of which had likely been an unpleasant shock. To be confronted with the idea that Puar was dating... It was bad timing. Yamucha considered Puar to be a little sister, they'd lived around each other for ages. And dating had not been even remotely kind to Yamucha, so he'd reacted badly. And so yes, there had been an argument. Which was why Puar had been sad and had messed up the antidote...

Puar was still sad. Her relatives were speaking to her, somewhere upstairs. They'd asked the warriors to stay away. Kuririn wanted to speak to Puar eventually as well but had no clue what he could say to her and respected the need for space.

He was, at least, getting better. He didn't feel much better but his health was improving. Drinking a lot of water had helped. Kuririn was grateful. He could flex his toes again and nearly stand up on his own now. His energy felt more whole. There hadn't been any need to experiment with telekinesis. Chaozu had induced the flying but... Kuririn hadn't been able to steer it right away. For a while, Gohan had towed him around the mansion like a kid with a giant balloon. Kuririn was immensely relieved that he wasn't going to be stuck that way.

On the one hand, it was strange to think that a pale warrior less than two foot tall and done up like something from a doll store would be the one to take charge amid chaos. On the other hand Kuririn, of all people, knew not to judge a warrior by their height and Chaozu had clearly been through heck and back, long before they'd ever been introduced. The pale warrior probably had some considerable practice at dealing with awkward situations.

Chaozu had broken up the argument and had suggested that Yamucha go to protect the Kame House. So that's where Yamucha was now - off making sure that nobody tried to kill Master Roshi again. Yajirobe had remained at the mansion and had taken up guard duty. Chaozu had also taken up guard duty and had made a few phone calls. Including one to let ChiChi know where her son was.

Gohan had landed at the mansion yesterday. His arrival was the reason that the mansions front door was no longer on its hinges but propped up against a wall. He'd been upset and giving off so much energy that he had accidentally scared away all of the stray animals that Tenshinhan hadn't. He'd been talking about girls being mean and cheating. Which baffled and embarrassed Kuririn - because he did not understand where these ideas had come from and really did not want to have to discuss such an adult-sounding topic with a six year old - but had caused Yajirobe to declare the kid normal, more than once. Gohan reacted favorably to being called normal. Chaozu had made Gohan an unofficial legal intern to keep him busy while Kuririn had been 'resting'. Yajirobe was outside with the kid now, giving an impromptu sword lesson to someone that would probably never actually need a weapon in a fight.

"Why is the case against Red Ribbon being delayed?" This was, as near as Kuririn could understand, probably why Chaozu had been upset.

"That's a good question but we need to talk about something else." Chaozu had taken over the coffee table with stacks of legal documents, he searched through them. Levitating the stacks and shuffling their contents. "Ah, here. Got it confirmed. The Crane Master is dead." Chaozu didn't sound very fazed by this information. He levitated the paperwork and set it down beside Kuririn. "Copy for the Kame House, in case Roshi wants to frame it. Did he ever tell you _why_ they were rivals?"

Kuririn glanced at the papers without touching them. He wasn't going to put the water bottle down. He'd been sedated the last time anyone had gotten ahold of his drink. "I just assumed that they were competing for their teachers favor and..."

"No. Roshi had that." Chaozu met the questioning stare with a shrug. "Ask Yajirobe, if you want. He can back this up. Ask him to list all the warriors that have ever trained under Korin. Our names are on that list. Before us, it was Goku. Before Goku, it was Roshi. Before Roshi, it was Kami."

Kuririn caught on. "...The Crane Master never trained with Korin?"

"Right." Chaozu sighed. "I know the 22nd Tenkaichi Budoukai is not full of great memories but consider this: Master Roshi entered it."

Calling the 22nd Budoukai anything less a nightmare was an understatement, in Kuririns opinion. He'd spent more than one battle during the tournament convinced that he was going to die and had in fact died, after the tournament. It was true that Master Roshi had entered...

"Yea, but he was in disguise and-" Kuririn saw what he being guided towards, "The Crane Master sat in the audience. That jerk came up to us and talked trash and then just sat back..."

"Tada." Chaozu twirled a finger in the air and the paperwork in the room danced as if to celebrate.

Really, it was amazing. That's what Chaozu thought. Tenshinhan got called an assassin all the time. People were scared of Ten-san. But Chaozu had studied with the same teachers... And was often regarded as harmless. Even by the other warriors. Just because he didn't look scary. There were things that Chaozu had been tempted to say for a long time. Fortunately, he'd grown up in a political environment and had learned the value of keeping secrets. Life was a bit like a card game, you didn't show all your cards to your opponents if you wanted to win.

"The Crane Master was a lousy teacher AND a lousy student. He had flashes of genius but not many." Chaozu said. He was laying down some cards, in a way. They weren't his strongest. But it was nice finally to be able to say these things out loud. He'd lived in fear of the grumpy old man for so dang long. "He didn't impress his own sensei and didn't get accepted by Korin - but he felt that Roshi was the wrong choice, to lead the the dojo."

Kuririn was putting the pieces together. So Master Roshi had been the favorite student and the more skilled. Dojos weren't usually passed from sensei to student, though. Not if there was a family interested in making the claim. Master Mutaito had living relatives now - unless Tenshinhan had visited them within the last forty-eight hours - so he must have had a family three hundred years ago, too. But Mutaito had died from abnormal circumstances. He'd sealed a demon into a jar. He'd saved Kami. How could you tell a family that? Even if they believed the story... It might have put Kamis security at risk. And then Roshi had been there, to help defeat Garlic Senior. Maybe nobody else had known that Mutaito was dead.

Except for the Crane Master, somehow.

Chaozu told the story. "He saw the fight and went to it. He could fly. In fact he probably flew better, before he aged. He didn't understand everything that he witnessed from the sidelines but he saw where they put the denshi jar. And he understood that. He threatened to open it. Kami was still weakened from two ridiculous assaults on him in one day. Korin and Roshi were beaten up from dealing with Garlic Senior. But our Tsuru-sennin - you know, he actually would brag about it sometimes. About how he could have opened the jar and turned Piccolo Diamio loose on the world AGAIN. He believed that the demon would have allowed him to become a god."

_By killing Roshi, Korin and Kami._ Kuririn realized, the horror of the idea taking shape. _And then we wouldn't have had any dragonballs, any senzu beans or any legendary martial artists left alive on Earth._

"And it might have worked. Because Kami was spirit-bound to Daimio. The demon knew this but had already tried to kill Kami anyway. If Daimio had gotten another chance and succeeded then he would have also done himself in. And that would have left..." Chaozu conducted another paperwork fanfare.

_...The Crane Master... as the Guardian of the Earth?_ That was bound to create some nightmares, Kuririn felt. He tried not to linger on the image and mentally gave thanks for everything. As bad as the situation sometimes got... It was chilling to be reminded of how easily things might have been worse. Three hundred years ago - if the world had been just a little different... Daimio might have destroyed everyone. Garlic Senior might have become a god. Even the Crane Master...

Kuririn shuddered and noticed he was standing. He hadn't been able to take the news sitting down. He took a few small steps around the coffee table. "How..."

"Did they talk him out of wanting to become a god and settling for half a dojo?" Chaozu shrugged. "I don't know. They didn't tell him about dragonballs or senzu but they have must have promised him something."

Without much of a pause Kuririn heard himself saying. "Ha. Knowing Roshi, they probably offered to get him a hot date..."

"Could have been. It _was_ three hundred years ago. They were younger men." Chaozu sighed. He'd read minds, hired private detectives and had talked with gods to get this information. He did in fact know the details of that ancient bargain - Kuririn had guessed one part of it - but didn't care to get into them. The Crane Master was dead and nobody was going to wish him back, so the bargain wasn't relevant anymore. "Kind of a horrific irony, don't you think, that after the 22nd Budoukai we got to try and save the world from the same exact demon that our sensei had once tried to use against the world?"

"Yea." Kuririn knew that he was not the only warrior in the world who had been wished back to life twice. Chaozu was the other name on that list. The pale warrior had died in the battles against Piccolo Daimio and had then self-destructed, in an attempt to kill Nappa. So Chaozu was probably going to have to back off from fighting a bit as well, because if he died again - that was it.

"Injure." Chaozu whispered. Laying down another card. But maybe he wouldn't show this one, all the way.

"...What?"

"I never meant to kill the Saiyan. Just injure him. Disable him." Chaozu said but he thought - and carefully kept this thought to himself: _And it wasn't supposed to have been a self-destruct technique. I just got nervous._

Why did they only ever expect Ten-san to invent new attacks?

"But we haven't even told you the best news yet!" Chaozu laughed, he was changing the subject and knew that he was going to enjoy watching this. "Let me go and get Gohan..."

**ooxoo**

**T**hree hundred years ago... Had been a bad day for Kami. It had been his first day, in fact, as the Earths Guardian. He'd trained hard to prepare for the job, studying the Earth and the habits of its residents.

Kami was more than three hundred years old. He was closer to the age of five hundred, in Earth years. He'd been born and raised on another world. For his first thirty years on Earth, he'd been living in the wilderness and keeping to himself. Trying in vain to repair his spaceship and wondering if any his brothers had escaped the vicious storms sweeping their homeworld. He'd tried to contact the other Nameks - with telepathy and radios - but hadn't gotten any response.

A young witch with red hair, a white cat with a wooden walking stick and a brown elfin warrior on a flying carpet had finally come out to greet him. Kami knew them now as Uranai Baba, Korin and Mister Popo. He still didn't understand why they'd waited thirty years. But after the introductions... He'd been taken to the Lookout and had started training. The warrior Garlic had already been there. He was an alien, too. He'd escaped some sort of disaster on a world called Makyo and had ended up crashing on the Earth. Garlic had been on the Earth for thousands of years but, for some reason, had only recently started his formal training.

Kami had trained alongside Garlic for the next thirty years. Why things had happened to him in neat thirty year intervals, Kami didn't know. But they hadn't called Garlic, Garlic Senior back then. Because even though Garlic been impossibly ancient - by human standards, aliens tended to age differently - he hadn't had any descendants and so there hadn't been any need to specificy _which _warrior named Garlic was being talked about. And they hadn't called Kami, Kami back then either. Because that was not a title that he'd earned yet.

He'd given up his name, to earn the title. He'd given up a lot. He'd literally had to split in half - purging the evil from himself - in order to become the guardian. So he'd been immediately attacked by Daimio, the personification of his own former evilness. It had taken a legendary martial artist to save his life and the legend, Mutaito, had died in the process. Then Garlic, the friendly rival of the past thirty years, had abruptly betrayed him. And then the Crane Master...

When your very first day on the job consists of having to avoid serious risk of death three times in a row... Then of course you do start wondering about how long you might actually be able to last in the position.

Kami enjoyed watching over the planet but he had been cautiously seeking a suitable replacement since day one. Well, no. Correction. Since day two. Day one had been hell. But precisely because day one had been hell, Kami had wanted to establish a chain of command. Pick a heir. That way, if anything happened, the world would have another guardian on call. The guardianship would be continuous. There wouldn't be a period of time where the world had to go without. Kami was always _supposed _to have had a heir. A backup. It was just sensible. But the person who had been secretly trained for that position... Who had come to attend the ceremony and witness Kami becoming the guardian... Had been the legendary Master Mutaito.

His replacement-in-waiting had died to save him. Kami still got a lump in his throat, thinking of it. The sheer loyalty! Mutaito could have let him die. Instead, the man had saved the world. Anyone else would have just killed Daimio which would have also killed Kami. Mutaito had trapped the demon in a denshi jar, allowing Kami to live. The man had been a genius. How could you choose a replacement, for someone like that?

It wasn't easy. Sentiments aside, there were rules. Kami could not make the offer twice to anyone on Earth. If someone said no or walked away without answering - that was it. He had to look elsewhere.

Uranai Baba had said no. If she'd wanted the job then she could have had it long before any lost Namek had shown up on her world. Korin and Mister Popo had said no. They were both already gods and had other responsibilities to attend to.

Roshi had said no. The Ox King had said no. Goku had said no way. There had been others, mostly before Gokus arrival on Earth. They'd all said no.

Yajirobe had said no to Kami but yes, to Korin. There was something about honor and ancestory tied into the samurais decision. Chaozu had said no. He'd still been an Emperor, at the time and psychic even then. He'd known that the revolution was coming to his homeland but had been grimly determined to remain at the palace, like the captain of a sinking ship who insists that everyone else get off first.

Kami couldn't offer the job to his nephew because of the spirit-bond they shared. Choosing Piccolo as a heir didn't make sense because anything that killed Kami would kill Piccolo as well. But Kami wanted to find someone. He was determined.

ChiChi had called him a demon and had thrown an axe at him before he could even say anything. She hadn't wanted Kami to preside over her wedding, either. But Goku had threatened to remain single, if his most recent sensei couldn't be the one to bless the couple and so ChiChi had grudgingly compromised. Kami had finally gotten to ask her about being the worlds next guardian at the reception and she'd told him, in no uncertain terms, exactly where he could stick such a question. Kami had seen and blessed many weddings during his time as the guardian but had never heard any of the beautiful brides use that kind of language. It was a good thing that he'd had to study anatomy before becoming the local god. Otherwise he would have just been confused. And ChiChi... She'd kept an axe around for the whole proceedings. On reflection, maybe he should have offered to train Goku some more...

Earlier this year he'd asked some of the other Nameks, while they'd been stranded on Earth. They'd said no. Actually, one of the stranded Nameks hadn't said no. One of them - a younger Namek, a healer, Kami didn't remember the kids name - had said: "but, would I still be able to visit my family?'"And Kami wasn't sure about that. When you were the Guardian of the Earth, you pretty much had to stay on the Earth. Turning your back on the planet was not part of the job description. Kami had expressed this opinion and then the young Namek had said: "but, I just got my whole family back..." So Kami had let the subject drop.

He'd even managed to ask Vegeta - because the disposed Prince had been stranded on Earth for a while as well. Vegeta had decided that the question had to be some kind of a trick and had left for outer space shortly afterwards, without ever answering. Although leaving for outer space was, in its own way, an answer: no.

Kami was starting to hesitate. He WANTED very much to ask certain other warriors if they cared to defend the planet on a full-time basis. But he also didn't want them to just say no. Because his list of prospects kept getting shorter. Who else could he ask, if they all just said no? Was he going to have to try and trick someone into saying yes? That was disappointing.

It was a tiny bit difficult, to feel appreciated or accomplished in your work when nobody else on the planet wanted your job.

There was new urgency to the search. The battle with Garlic Junior had been a painful and destructive reminder of the danger that existed to the Earth, in general but also to Kami, personally. It didn't make things better that, after the battles with Garlic Junior had ended, he'd started to envision his own death. It was the Psychics Curse. There was an undeniable certainty to the prediction but the details wouldn't come to him. Kami knew that he was going to die. He'd always known that but not so vividly. It was hard to think of anything else, when the visions came. Kami didn't know exactly when, how or why his demise would happen. He wasn't really upset that it would happen and he didn't mind if he had to remain dead. Death was natural. Perhaps he should have died, years ago. Five hundred was a long enough life - especially when multipled by three and translated into Namekian years. But... What upset him... Was that he didn't know what would happen to the Earth, after he died.

Earth could not be allowed to go without a guardian.

Kami was down on Earth, at the moment. In a forest. With a broom. He finished sweeping out the shrine. It was an old building, stone construction. Solid but nothing fancy. It was supposed to blend in. A single room, full of cracks where plants were growing through. Dark and damp and dusty. No roads or trails had lead to it. No signs had pointed the way.

_I should keep this place in better condition. _Kami sighed. It was hardly respectful, to neglect the shrine. He'd just had so much on his mind lately... _I'm sorry, Mutaito-sama._

**ooxoo**


	24. Reverse: November 16th, 763 AD

_**Eclipse**_

**by DoraMouse**

**ooxoo**

**Reverse: November 16th, 763 A.D.**

**A** row of paper. Each piece brightly colored and folded down the middle. Cards. Thank you notes. Handmade. Most of the artwork was done in crayon, a few were in pencil or ink. Some of the writing on the cards was crooked and some of the words were mispelled. Each card was unique but they all carried the same basic message.

We love you, Axe Mother. Thank you for finding us. Thank you for protecting us. Thank you for feeding us. Thank you for bandages and clean clothes. Thank you for letting us stay at your house. Thank you for telling us stories. Thank you for listening to us and playing with us and trusting us with chores. Thank you for making us feel better. Thank you for making us feel useful. Thank you for wanting to find our real parents. You are even better, than some of our real parents. You are really cool. You are truly amazing. You are our hero. We love you. We will never forget you.

But...

ChiChi could hardly bear the sweetness or the sorrow. But if Gohan had been there, ChiChi thought, then he might have been tempted to point and say: "See, I'm not the only kid in the world who can take off suddenly."

Gohan wasn't home. ChiChi had been called about this. She didn't know if Gohan would be gone for months or years this time - he'd already been gone for nearly a week - but at least he'd called. At least he was still on Earth. At least he was spending time with the other human warriors and not just that annoying green demon.

She missed Gohan.

She missed all of the children.

Four days ago, she'd stepped out to do some quick shopping. There had been thirty extra children in her house so she'd needed a few things. But of course, whenever she was in a hurry - that's when she seemed to get stuck in traffic. And thanks to whatever disaster had happened a month ago, most businesses weren't fully operational yet and prices were high. So it had taken longer, to find everything and then haggle. By the time she'd arrived home again... There were thirteen children and seventeen thank you notes.

It wasn't the same.

What had happened to the Earth a month ago? The weather satelittes had recorded dark clouds blanketing the planet and Gohan might have said something to her about aliens but ChiChi wasn't sure. She hadn't paid much attention. Aliens were not her favorite subject. Gohan always seemed to assume that she just knew which set of aliens he was talking about now. She didn't always. There sure seemed to be a lot of aliens around, lately. Those saiyan things and then the demon things and then something else, that could alter the global weather.

Earth had been around for billions of years. ChiChi was twenty-six. Why the heck did all the aliens in the universe suddenly have to visit her planet during her lifetime?

This feeling was compounded by the fact that her husband was supposively lost in space. ChiChi didn't believe the lost part. Goku had spent his childhood wandering the Earth. He had a good sense of direction. He was probably just dealing with more aliens, out in space. ChiChi frowned. If Goku invited any of those aliens over for dinner then she'd smack him. And then, she'd probably hug him. Because she missed him, too.

It went beyond mere concern or emotion.

ChiChi could not detect energy but she was sensitive to it. This was not a wholly conscious skill. All she knew was that two years ago, when her husband had been killed and her son had been kidnapped... She'd felt so utterly alone. Her life, the house - it wasn't the same without them. It felt so empty. Every time they left and took their energy with them, it sent her into a depression. She had tried to rationalize her gloominess and had tried to cheer herself up but... For four years, they'd lived together. They'd been a mostly happy family. ChiChi had adapted, to living in a high energy environment. She craved being around it, now.

To an outsider, especially a psychic outsider, the Son House was a pillar of energy. There were so many imprints, so many memories embedded into the area. If there had been any nearby neighbors then they would have thought the place was haunted. And their descriptions of the ghost would have matched a description of Goku. But to ChiChi, who had lived with Goku... The energy of these memories was nothing compared to the energy of the person. She did not feel haunted. She'd just felt empty.

Having Gohan back home had been enough to restore some of her confidence and sanity. Having thirty other kids around - they'd been a blessing. But even Gohan and thirty other kids all together weren't able to fill the sheer energy void left by Goku.

She'd taken in Vegeta once, without even understanding why. Actually... Gohan had beaten the elder Saiyan half to death. That was probably at least part of why. ChiChi wasn't sure what had started that fight or if Gohan had done all the damage on his own. He'd likely had help. Really, Gohan brought the most insane things home sometimes. It still didn't make sense to ChiChi that she'd allowed the unconscious warrior to be dragged into her house. She'd seen the battle on television, just like everyone else on Earth. Vegeta was dangerous. He was the type who could level cities without a hint of remorse. He was a monster.

He'd left on his own, as soon as he'd recovered a degree of consciousness. He'd even used the door. And he'd left the planet, a few months after that. And so he'd been gone for about half a year now. ChiChi didn't feel that she knew Vegeta. She hadn't said a single thing to him and she'd been relieved when he was gone but... She'd also kind of missed the energy.

If not for pride, she would almost have been willing to tolerate the stupid green demon. For his energy. Instead... Thank goodness that Kuririn visited once in a while. He had a lot of energy, as well.

ChiChi loved Goku. Their marriage had been arranged and the wedding had been rushed but they were a good match for each other. It was surprising how much they had in common. Her life story was almost a parody of Gokus. She had spent eight years of her childhood walking alone and having strange adventures. She'd hunted, fished, run away from dinosaurs and beaten up thieves. ChiChi hadn't attended an actual school before the age of 12. Yet she had been ready to enter a world class martial arts tournament by the age of 19. She'd never had a large group of friends and sometimes fell out of touch with her pals for years but always astonished them when there was a reunion. So what if Gokus relatives had come from a planet that had exploded? ChiChis relatives had come from a castle on a mountain that had caught fire. It still did, sometimes. If she went outside on days when the mountain was burning again, she could smell the smoke. She was glad that Roshi had flattened the mountain. Accident or not, it had kept her father from rebuilding there. Ox King still lived near the area but not ON the former mountainside, anymore.

She had, during the course of her adventurous young life, inadvertantly developed many habits similar to Gokus. Their first year together had been awkward but in a good way. They'd both had a lot of learning to do, as far as social skills went.

Thus even though ChiChi appreciated the energy of other warriors - she didn't want anything else from them. The thought had not even entered her head. The thought of the thought had not even... Some people in the world, they went to conventions. Or ran in marathons. Or became actors. There were a lot of ordinary everyday Earthlings who had found ways to put themselves in crowds. Or in front of crowds. And they did it because of the energy that they got from the crowds. It was like that. Nothing more. Except... Several of the people that ChiChi knew - they were crowds by themselves. That's how much energy they gave off.

It would have been severly offensive, to even imagine suggesting that she didn't love Goku. He was her husband and her best friend.

Goku couldn't be gone forever. Especially not if...

Her mind went back to her telephone conversation with Gohan. He hadn't said much. Normally, ChiChi would have asked more questions. But the thirteen other kids had already told her everything. And so she'd been sitting there on the phone, knowing why Gohan had left the house. Just waiting to hear it from the mouth of her own son.

He'd been beaten by a girl, apparently.

This was a serious moment for any caring parent, ChiChi had to remind herself. It was hard not to smile. Because the whole story seemed so farfetched. If Gohan was capable of beating Vegeta half to death then how in the world could an ordinary little girl defeat him? That must have been a sight to see, indeed. ChiChi wished that she'd seen it. Her little boy was growing up! And so quickly! His father hadn't known much about girls before he'd been married to one.

Still. It would have been helpful for Goku to be here. Because if Gohan thought that girls were mean now then where did that leave her?

It left her at home in an energy void with thirteen other kids to take care of, that's where it left her. It left her with a few parents driving down from East Capital City to collect children that were no longer living in her home.

ChiChi couldn't detect energy - but she'd been a hunter since an early age. She could track wild animals. As soon as she'd returned from that fateful shopping trip, as soon as she'd finished reading that first thank you note for the first time... She had gone out and looked for the departed kids. She had wanted to find them and bring them back. Had wanted to speak with them and persuade them to come back. They were kids. They were hurt. There were seventeen of them. They'd left from her house, she was familiar with the territory. They'd only left about an hour before she'd arrived home. They couldn't have gotten too far.

But these weren't just any seventeen kids. These were kids who had already walked from East Capital City. They knew how to cover their tracks.

ChiChi was depressed. The cards were a constant reminder. Four days later and she'd only found tracks once. Beaten on her own turf by a bunch of children - had she really gotten that out practice? Were her skills so rusty? Maybe she wasn't fit to be a parent. Perhaps it was just as well, that Gohan had other places to be.

She walked out of the forest, brooding. Past the shadowy ruins of a long lost city. Past a flock of animals thought to have gone extinct from the planet hundreds of years ago. Past the bones of an experienced hiker and the remains of a small aircraft that had searched for him. Past a flowering plant with the exact chemical components to cure a rare skin disorder... ChiChi didn't understand the value of these things. Didn't know how many scientists and explorers would have sold their own mothers to discover these things. The forest was just the forest, to her. When you came from a flaming mountainside and had a child who seemed to collect aliens, it didn't bother to notice how strange the landscape could be. Perhaps it was for the best. She wouldn't have wanted to deal with any type of person willing to sell their own mother anyway.

**ooxoo**

**W**hat happens when a person who grows up with next to no knowledge about their own biological family is suddenly informed that they might, in fact, have a relative? Even if that relative is not a natural relative.

Kuririn had fainted.

And had apparently, upon recovering, lost his mind.

Yamucha surveyed the damage. He couldn't really justify sitting around at the Kame House when he was aware that A)a good friend had just snapped and B)his mansion was going to need some work. Not to mention C)that he owed Puar a couple hundred heartfelt apologies for being an over-protective jerk, D)Piccolo was not amused and E)the neighbors were going to want some answers. Oh and F)'neighbors' now included everyone within a fifty mile radius.

"Wow..." Bulma didn't typically visit. They weren't exactly friends anymore. But when the electrical power surges had caused every appliance at Capsule Corp to blow up, she'd been curious. "Hey, remember what Goku did to Pilafs castle?"

Yamucha wished that he didn't. Pilaf was the delusional but mostly harmless manic who had once captured them in order to steal the dragonballs. They'd all been trapped in a room at that castle. A room with a glass ceiling. If they'd been prisoners during the day, they would have been toasted alive. They'd been captured at night. Goku had looked up, seen the moon and transformed into a giant were-monkey. Being stuck in a tiny room with a giant angry monster had only been the highlight to a long week of near-death encounters. The whole less than delightful experience had been fourteen years ago, already but it wasn't an easy sort of thing to forget.

"Naw. More was left, of Pilafs castle." Oolong kicked a rock and watched it skip across the crater. "If only we still had problems like Pilaf, huh?"

The Kame style was not the first martial art that Yamucha had studied. He was not a strictly Kame style student. But Yamucha felt a certain loyalty to the Kame style, regardless. He felt a duty to try and protect the residents of the Kame House. So instead of leaving them behind, they'd come with him.

Maybe it would have been safer, to leave them behind. Or maybe they would have followed him anyway.

Kuririn was gone. Gohan had gone after him. Yajirobe had left on foot, grumbling that he'd had just about enough explosions to last him for all eternity. Chaozu had politely offered to pay for the mansion to be rebuilt and had then departed. He had taken several stacks of legal paperwork, a collection of scrolls and also a few shovels. Yamucha had not asked what the shovels were for. He could have asked but really, he didn't want to know. Chaozu was talented at seeming calm and polite even while sometimes projecting maniac energy. There was a big twisted sense of humor in that little pale warrior. It just didn't pay, to ask what the psychic was up to sometimes.

"Remind me, who was Pilaf?" Master Roshi asked while poking at the rubble with his cane. He was standing next to Bulma and clearly enjoying the sight of her.

Oolong snorted. "Exactly!"

It was true and false at the same time, Yamucha thought. Pilaf had been delusional and mostly harmless - but a genius and a persistant one. Nobody had told Pilaf about the dragonballs. Pilaf had already known. Pilaf had done the research. He'd built his own dragonball radar. He'd figured out how to _hide_ dragonballs from other peoples radars. And after failing to kill them once, Pilaf had waited a few years and had tried again. But he'd had some extra help, on his second try, in the form of Piccolo Daimio. So even if you could forget about villains like Pilaf... Even if it might be nice, to have problems like Pilaf instead of problems like invading aliens with insane amounts of power... Pilaf had made an impact on the world by releasing the demon. Because nobody who'd survived the disaster could forget about Daimio. Or his son.

Tenshinhan was somewhere out in the world and MUST have noticed Kuririns light show but hadn't powered up. Piccolo HAD. Which was why he'd gotten mangled in passing by Kuririn. Which was why the battered demon was here now, just daring them to explain. The green warrior could have followed Kuririn and Gohan but... Kuririns energy was tracking towards the south. Leaving from West Capital City, to the south meant Korins Tower. And Kamis Lookout. And maybe even Uranai Babas Oasis. All of which were places that Piccolo would rather avoid.

Yamucha could relax, just a smidge. There was a familiar weight perched on his shoulder. Puar was okay. That was all that had mattered to him.

She was twenty-two years old. Yamucha had known the cat since she was seven - more than half of her life. More than half of HIS life. He'd missed her last birthday, due to training and then being dead but even if he'd been home... Puar was always going to be his little sister. That was just how he thought of her. He'd known Puar longer than he'd known anyone else. And she didn't physically age, she always looked the same. So he'd made the simple mistake of convincing himself, on some level, that she _was_ just the same but.. She wasn't.

Puar had grown up. It wasn't something she needed anyones permission to do. It was just something that had happened.

Her relatives were okay, as well. The calico and the others. But they had left. Because they'd only come to the city to help rescue and care for stray animals. And all the stray animals had been scared off days ago. And now the mansion was not a safe place, to bring stray animals to. So Puars relatives had gone home. To their home. And Puar had a standing invitation to go home, too. To her childhood home. To her real family.

They hadn't invited Yamucha. Which was okay. It hurt to be excluded but it was okay. There were other places he could stay but... Yamucha didn't have any real family, to go home to. He didn't even have any knowledge of his real family. He wasn't sure he wanted that knowledge. He'd been abandoned in the desert. He didn't care to ever meet the people who had done that. They couldn't be good people, he felt.

Yamucha risked a sideways glance. He didn't like being within a hundred feet of Bulma anymore. They'd met fourteen years ago but she'd turned every single one of their dates since then into a nightmare for him. Yamucha still didn't understand why. He'd loved her at first sight but Bulma was the one who'd eventually asked him out. He had agreed to date Bulma, in spite of learning about the way that she generally treated people. He'd seen Bulma cheerfully encourage Goku to 'go ahead and get killed' on more than one occaision. Goku had been strong even back then but he'd also been around the age of 12. And Bulma had been sincere, she hadn't been kidding. She would tell other people to go and die, because it was okay with her if they died. Just as long as SHE didn't. It should have been a warning...

That was all she'd cared about, for the longest time. Herself. Bulma hadn't really wanted a boyfriend. She'd just wanted a puppet. Someone to humilate and echo her praises. Granted, their on-and-off relationship hadn't been all violent arguments but the violent arguments were certainly the most memorable aspect. Bulma had effectively done to his soul what some idiot with a cursed sword had later done to his face: Yamucha was scarred. He hadn't dated since. There had been plenty of offers - some from geniune fans, others from people who were clearly only interested in the potential of sharing his fame and wealth - but he couldn't bring himself to trust any of them.

How could he not feel worried, for Puar? Dating had been horrible for Yamucha. He didn't want to see a friend go through something so horrible. He didn't want to lose the one creature on Earth that he considered family. How could he put it into words?

But a friendship more than half a lifetime old doesn't always need to find the words.

Puars dark oval eyes were visible, in his peripheral vision. She was sitting on his shoulder - a gesture that implied forgiveness. She had noticed the sideways glance at Bulma. Puar didn't have whiskers otherwise she might have twitched them. Her expression carried the message anyway. She was signaling: _I know what you're afraid of. I was there, remember? I saw it happen, too. We'll talk about this later._

Out loud, Puar said. "We should go help Gohan."

Bulma and Roshi stopped shouting at each other about who was more perverted - they always seemed to have this argument, when they were around each other. Oolong looked up from inspecting the ruins. Piccolo was still trying to glare a hole through everyone.

"It's not Gohan that I'm worried about right this second." Yamucha concentrated his attention on Kuririns energy. He almost wished that he couldn't detect specific power levels. Knowing that your opponent was stronger might not stop a warrior from trying. Knowing exactly HOW MUCH stronger... Yamucha was painfully aware that he hadn't even been able to stop Tenshinhan from stealing all the books on energy combat. So this was looking impossible. But it _was_ Kuririn. And that was a friendship worth the risks. Yamucha hovered. "Who's coming?"

Puar did not leave his shoulder. She sank her claws in, wrapped her tail around his arm and hunched down in preparation for their flight - she'd be blown off otherwise. Bulma casually shrugged towards her aircar. Master Roshi and Oolong looked at their all-terrain tank. Piccolo powered up because he was sick of everyone ignoring him. They continued to ignore him.

"Tell us the direction, in case we lose sight of you." Bulma suggested. She was the only one there who needed to ask but made it sound like she was asking for everyones sake.

"You could ride with us..." Roshi leered. He was an old man with an old habit.

"South." Yamucha said, cutting off the brewing argument.

Then the direction changed. Yamucha, Roshi and Piccolo sensed it. And they also sensed... Two weak, unfamiliar energies. The powers were so faint... That they only even seemed to register at all, in the world of energy, because they were caught between Gohan and Kuririn now. And so they were just reflecting some of the glare.

**ooxoo**

**"A**ny ideas?" Shirley had to squint. She was in a defensive stance, back to back with a sister who had to hover to be near her height. Nothing was going as planned. Why did all these warriors put so much light into their auras? It was such a waste of energy! Did they really have to show off all the time? It made her angry - but not stupid. She could detect energy. They were in serious trouble.

Ranshin didn't want to run away anymore. It was a resolution that she was questioning the wisdom of, now. But these warriors were so fast... If she tried to escape, she wouldn't get far. She could risk the 'cute' trick again but that was not likely to work on the glowing boy a second time. And the other warrior... Was one of THEM. And suddenly all that Ranshin could think of was the attack that he'd used on television, against the invading aliens, where he'd killed several screaming little green monsters all at once.

Telepathically inserting the word cute into the brain of any creature capable of using energy that way did not seem likely to get good results.

The warrior was in the sky, staring down at Shirley. She squinted right back at him.

Ranshin was able to detect energy but she was also psychic. Able to detect minds. The glowing boy was a ways off but still within migraine-inducing range. However all of his usual projected traumas were wiped out by the intensity of the other warriors aura. There were so many things flashing through this other persons head...

No. It wasn't just the head, the brain. This aura... She'd seen ghosts and spirits, detonated androids and sensed strong energy before but... Ranshin had never before experienced a conscious awareness of another creatures heart. Androids - they didn't project energy like this. Ghosts, spirits - they didn't have pulses anymore. She'd never been able to sense a pulse like this before. She'd been aware of other peoples feelings before - that was in the aura. Ki was tied to emotion. Detecting emotion didn't even require psychic skill but... The pulse. The actual physical heart rate. That was a new thing to be aware of, for Ranshin. And it registered in the energy as well as the mind. It was like having an obnoxious drummer pound across her nervous system. It gave her a headache but it also _resonated_. It altered her own heart beat.

There was an attack that the Crane Master had never taught Ranshin, but he'd told her about it... It used telekinesis and targeted the heart...

But Ranshin wasn't thinking about this. Because the glowing boy had landed. He wasn't frightened of them. Would he recognize the fact that Ranshin had been the one to insert the word cute into his head? She really hoped not. It had been a lie and a cheap shot and it had cost the glowing boy a victory. He had a silly amount of power and might just kill her, if he made the connection and felt like seeking revenge.

Ranshin struggled to regain control of her pulse. She thought of her teachers and the few lessons that they'd both agreed on. _Grace over power. Peace over anger. Never put all your energy into one attack..._

The glowing boy was watching them. He seemed to be waiting for a cue from the other warrior. _They_ would only need one attack.

There had to be a way to win. Had to be. It might be close to impossible but it had to exist. Android Nine, of all creatures, had taught Ranshin this. He'd liked math. Nine had always treated everything like a math problem. Ranshin was barely five years old and had not been terribly fond of the subject but she'd listened to Nine. It made sense, for there to always be more than one possible answer. It made sense that if you gave up without trying, you'd never know what the answers might be. It was time to stop running away but...

She wasn't running away. She was hovering, back-to-back with Shirley, who was taller than her and standing on the ground. They were in defensive stances but they hadn't been attacked yet.

Maybe they weren't going to be attacked? Or maybe this was some kind of trick?

The other warrior landed. He was facing Shirley. Ranshin couldn't see his expression but she could hear him and his voice held the same emotional turbulence as his energy. There was happiness, sadness, regret and anger - magnified and mixed together. He didn't seem to know where to begin. Eventually, he said. "How old are you?"

Shirley just glared. Confusion and anger went for seesaw ride in her soul. Anger came down first. Why did her age matter? Was the warrior going to refuse to fight her if she was too young? She'd been designed and trained to fight! She didn't want pity! The seesaw bounced and confusion came down. Shirley didn't want to die, either. Words, Nary and fourteen other kids were counting on her. Waiting for her to return and continue training them. Trusting her, to help them become heros. If she got killed... Anger came back down. This had to be some kind of trick! Why were these warriors always wanting to trick her? Did they think she was stupid?

"She's nine years old!" Ranshin volunteered and took an elbow to the ribs from her sister for speaking.

The following thoughts passed through Kuririns head: _Nine years ago... I would have been eighteen... I've been a father for nine years and nobody told me... _This thought spread out like a wave reaching the shoreline but then sank, because there was another wave coming in behind it. _She does have pointy ears. _Gohan had told him about this but it was still a shock to see. _Nine years ago, Piccolo would have been two. That can't be right. Kami protected his nephew, when he was a kid. And Kami was also training Goku for the first three years that Piccolo lived. That didn't just improve Gokus power, it improved Kamis power. Nobody should have been able to get to Kami. Nobody should have been able to get to Piccolo._

There was an extended moment of undiluted horror. There was a name that started with the letter D.

Kuririn retreated and returned to the sky.

Was she his daughter? Or closer to being Piccolos sister? How was he SUPPOSED to feel about the idea that nine years ago, some criminals had apparently taken a sample of his DNA and then also a sample of Daimios DNA... And the samples must have been taken more than nine years ago. And the senior demon HAD died in the World Palace, eleven years ago. So there had probably been plenty of bloody evidence lying around... And how messed up were these criminals, if they'd combined those samples? It just... Was wrong. And sick. And stupid. And hurtful. Kuririn didn't know if he could let such monsterous thing exist. He'd DIED because of Daimio.

And there was the shot at redemption. If the girl was age nine then logically, the DNA samples had been collected more than nine years ago. That was a redeeming trait. Because even if the Namekian DNA was likely Daimios, the sample from Kuririn... Would have been taken from him when he was seventeen or younger. Which was before he'd ever died. To think that there was some tiny scrap of his own genetics anywhere that had not yet seen the afterlife... Was profound.

Monster or not, it was a mostly human looking little girl who wasn't anywhere near his power level. It was a chance at family. Kuririn had always wanted family of his own. Not like this but... The girl had dark spikey hair. Kuririn couldn't remember if his own hair had been spikey but he knew that it had been dark, his eyebrows were a constant reminder. The girl was wearing orange clothing, something that had clearly been made and altered for her. The fabric was familiar. Kuririn might be imagining things but he was prepared to swear that the Kame mark had been on the original outfit. The girl even had an energy signature that mimicked his.

It wouldn't be fair or right or honorable, to attack the child. She probably hadn't chosen to be created this way. Did she even know what she was? Did she know what she represented?

The dark purple aura of a warrior with very bad timing lately appeared on the northern horizon. Kuririn couldn't decide what to do about the girl right now but he DID feel that further mangling the demon might improve his mood. And at least Piccolo probably wouldn't die, if Kuririn vented his temper.

Shirley watched the warrior blur away. The sky above and to the north dissolved into a colorful light show.

Gohan was too bewildered to take sides. He could detect energy and sensed the emotions but he didn't know what the adults were thinking. And he hadn't ever seen Kuririn this intense about anything, outside of saving the world.

The glowing boy was their target. They'd parted from the other kids to search for him. Shirley had a plan. Because in order to train the other kids, they had to have the right tools. And in order to get the right tools... Shirley had wanted to go back to Red Ribbon. She'd done all of her training there. She knew what Red Ribbon had and where they kept it - if she could get to the stuff then taking it wouldn't be too hard. But Red Ribbon was full of adults who were armed with guns and explosives, even though the organization was claiming to be a business instead of just an army. And Shirley wasn't immune to explosives. Ranshin didn't think that she was, either. And so they needed help.

But Shirley was not in her right mind, at the moment. Seeing warriors who could power up and fly around and that were wasting energy like it was something that was oh so easy to earn... Really ticked her off. So instead of just asking...

Gohan took the first kick but blocked the others. The scuffle grew from there. Shirley was taller and used her longer limbs to her advantage, she kept the glowing boy in reach. She was working close. She didn't want to give him the chance to fly off. Gohan endured this for a little while then summoned a fraction of his aura and threw her backwards. Ranshin was blown backwards as well but landed on her feet and put a shield up, big enough to cover Shirley too.

The battle above had paused. A blazing streak of energy lanced down, as if to divide the groups and end the squabble.

Shirley moved. Instead of stepping away from the blast, she went towards it. She put her arms out and yelled and... Reversed it. Shirley threw it back. The blast turned on itself, the flow of energy changed direction. The attack shot back into the sky.

_... How...? _Ranshin stared. Had that been a Crane technique? Shirley had never used it in the labs! Ranshin blinked and understood. _Androids never threw energy blasts at us._

Shirley must not know energy blasts. But she wouldn't need to create her own, if she could reverse other peoples.

The glowing boy was amazed, until Shirley assaulted him again. The warriors above were perplexed.

A hand. It was big and green and had claws. And it was getting closer, although the warrior himself was not. His arm was just stretching out, distorting. Reaching down.

Ranshin had seen a lot of scary things in her life but right now, this ranked as the absolute scariest. She reacted instinctively. Her fingertips glowed and her skin gained some new calluses. Without even concentrating - there wasn't time - the blast took shape. Her strongest dodonpa ever. She was nervous and missed the open palm of the descending hand but connected, somehow, with the wrist behind it.

There was a mental scream but not an audible one. The green hand continued to fall but it wasn't attached to anything now.

Shirley went past, thrown backwards once more. She rolled to her feet, dashed forward and jumped. The falling hand never hit the ground. Shirley snatched it from the air and threw it like a weapon. It didn't bother her to do this because the prototype androids had fallen apart all the time in fights - especially around her. The glowing boy retreated, he wasn't accustomed to having detached limbs thrown at him. Seized by anger and flooded with a desperate grief, Shirley yelled. "What gives you the right to be so strong?! Do you have any idea how many of us had to die, just because they wanted us to be stronger than you freaks?!"

Ranshin saw the ripples of her sisters words collide with their auras. Shirley had hurt them, without even hitting them. She had stunned them. And her sister wasn't even the psychic one!

A new orange energy tainted the north horizon. Someone else was coming. Another one of THEM, it felt like.

What to do?

Telekinesis was out. These warriors were too strong and Ranshin didn't have the practice. Hypnosis was out, same reasons. Cute was out, it wasn't reliable. Dodonpa was good but her fingers were still bleeding from the last one. Taiyouken was useless, these warriors didn't need to see her to find her. Kicks and punches and throws were out. These warriors were too powerful for regular martial arts. Running away was out. All that Ranshin had left to try... Was what she'd seen her sister do, earlier.

Ranshin looked at the warriors - the glowing boy and the two in the sky who were nearest. She looked at their auras and looked at their memories. Looked at their minds and hearts and everything they were projecting.

Somewhere in the back of her head, a teeny tiny seed of an idea had taken root and was flourishing. Shugendo. The Way of Supernatural Powers. The ability to use the soul for self-defense. Granted, the mystical art had other names. Some parts of the world called it Shaolin. Some cultures just called it Magic. There were six techniques - though variations existed - and three main attacks. The first five techniques of the sacred art were flying, energy shield, telekinesis, body distortion and teleport. The sixth technique was largely forgotten, it had been left out of most historical records. So had the three attacks. However if those attacks had been better recorded then one of them could have been called...

_Throw. It. All. Back. At. Them._

The little triclops gathered her energy, pulling her shield close and concentrated. Nobody was attacking her but she didn't want to wait for their attacks. Shirley could reverse their attacks. Ranshin wanted to reverse everything else about them. She reached out, mentally and spiritually. She wasn't very strong compared to these warriors. But she might just be strong enough.

**ooxoo**

**A** pale psychic warrior paused what he was doing and looked at the world of energy. Someone was attempting to use an attack that his ancestors had invented. It was called Noushiken, which basically meant Your Brain Dies Now. It was the mental equivalent of a reversal technique.

Huh. That little triclops, she couldn't be built from just Ten-sans DNA. Not if she was attempting Noushiken.

Chaozu had perfected and mastered Noushiken, ages ago. He just hadn't gotten to use it much. Especially not recently. He'd used it more often during the revolution but... Nearly every time that he'd been tempted, since then, he gotten to glimpse the future and see what the world might be like if his attacks actually worked.

At the 22nd Tenkaichi Budoukai, his opponent had been Kuririn. If Chaozu had won that match then his next opponent would have been Goku. And Goku would have been upset. And the world needed Goku, it seemed, so there was no sense in trying to defeat him. Not over something as petty as a tournament match.

Chaozu had been aware of that. He was not so bad at math that he had ever needed to solve problems by counting on his fingers. His imperial tutors would have smacked him, for such childish behavior. Well. No, they wouldn't have. Smacking an Emperor was not a good idea, for anyone wanting to have a lifespan of more than five minutes. Those hadn't been his rules but he'd been born in a political environment - the rules had already existed. He'd had to live with them. Anyway. He was not bad, at math. But he'd pretended to be. It had been a moderately harmless way in which to end the battle at that tournament. He'd seen the future of what would happen, if Kuririn lost. So he'd let Kuririn win.

This wasn't a card that Chaozu was going to lay down for anyone to see. Ever.

The fact that he knew a rather wicked attack called Noushiken was also something that he'd decided to keep to himself. Ten-san might suspect it but even he hadn't been told. Nobody else knew, the revolution had taken care of that. Well. Except for the gods, then. Kami and Korin were likely aware of Noushiken, they probably knew the attack for themselves but they'd never mentioned it to Chaozu. Why bring the subject up? Everyone who knew the attack was at least mildly psychic and nearly every psychic aware of the technique could understand that Noushiken likely wouldn't be of much use in the future.

Which was, of course, why Chaozu had an interest in developing new and better attacks. He had a vague idea of what the future might hold. But his latest invention in energy combat had backfired and killed him, against the Saiyans. Because he'd been too nervous. So Chaozu wasn't about to bank on _that _technique again, not unless he could work out some glitches.

Chaozu tuned out the world of energy and went back to shoveling. The other warriors had better be able to take care of themselves. The legal case against Red Ribbon was stalled but there was still much to be done. Red Ribbon was making robots out of dead things - Chaozu had been inside the labs and had seen that much firsthand. So... Finding the two dead genetic children had gotten him to thinking. And there were a few other corpses on Earth that he now felt obliged to locate and secure. Because he really didn't like the way that the future would look, if those particular corpses became weapons.

He hoped that Red Ribbon didn't already have them.

The future was a big thing. Chaozu knew that he couldn't see or change all of it. He was a skilled psychic but he had a life, he was alive. He had to live in the moment, sometimes. You couldn't live in the moment if all that you did was try and predict what the next moment was going to be. And it was okay, to be surprised sometimes. It wasn't always horrible. Even when horrible things happened... Sometimes, that was when the good inside of people really shone through. Sometimes, you needed the bad things to make the good things happen. It was like gardening - the best flowers grew where there was manure.

But robots, Chaozu didn't approve of them. They didn't have organic brains. He couldn't fight that sort of thing, not easily. All his psychic skills required his opponents to have organic brains. So maybe the best that Chaozu could do, to contribute to the potential fights of the future, was try to prevent at least a few of the robots from ever existing.

The shovel struck something solid. It was a corpse. It hadn't been put in a casket.

It had a tail.

_Good. _Chaozu removed the blade of the shovel from the remains and stood back. Now that he knew it was here... He levitated the body. He could have destroyed the body but he did have some respect for the dead, even these. So he capsulized it, for storage. _One less robot._

**ooxoo**


	25. Brighten: November 19th, 763 A

_**Eclipse**_

**by DoraMouse**

**ooxoo**

**Brighten: November 19th, 763 A.D.**

**T**enkaichi Budoukai. The World Tournament. The Strongest on Earth. The Strongest Under Heaven. The first tournament had been held in the year 650A.D. one hundred and thirteen years ago. Each time it was held, the name seemed to get translated a little differently. 'Tenkaichi' was an ancient word often found in cultural myths, it roughly meant 'the energy of heaven and earth colliding'. 'Budoukai' was a bit like sticking a thousand exclaimation points after the word 'energy' but it did also imply an intense level of spiritual dedication and a willingness to play fairly. It was the idea of honor, before the actual word for honor had entered the common language.

It was a martial arts competition, whatever anyone called it. Let us pause for a moment to consider the conditions.

The Tenkaichi Budoukai took place during the day. In a stadium. An outdoor stadium. With an often noisy live audience. There was an announcer and a camera crew. There were spotlights and judges. It was a sport, an exhibition - a chance for people to gather, trade ideas and show off their skills. The martial artists came from all over the world and from all walks of life. They were in the audience as well as in the contest. And to get in the contest... There were rules. No weapons were allowed. No magic was allowed. Killing an opponent would get you disqualified.

It was, in a nutshell, the exact opposite of everything that a normal assassin was prepared for. Which was why most assassins didn't bother with it. Only a few had ever entered the World Tournament.

Only one had ever been declared the Champion.

Tenshinhan sometimes wondered about the outcome of that match. He was cursed to relive it in his memory, picking apart all of his mistakes. He'd been around the age of 20 and struggling to compensate for the sheer novelty of having an opponent. Because assassins didn't usually have opponents, they had victims. They had targets. People who died. Not people who were given the opportunity to defend themselves. It wasn't professional, to waste time allowing your victims to defend themselves. Assassins were hired killers. They didn't kill at random. They were paid to kill, they had their clients to consider and clients always wanted the job done quickly. And the more quickly a job could be finished, the more jobs that could be fitted into a night. So it was profitable, to be efficient.

At the 22nd Tenkaichi Budoukai... It had been strange, to fight during the day. To fight in a wide space instead of on a narrow ledge. To fight in plain view of a large crowd. To not have anyone trying to arrest him or stop him or run away from him. To fight inside a simple arena instead of on a rooftop or while hanging off the side of a building or... It had seemed too easy, basically. And so he'd gotten overconfident. Tenshinhan had brutalized all of his preliminary opponents. He'd wanted to make it very clear to everyone that he was not just another martial artist - he was an assassin. He was proud to be an assassin. He'd wanted to make his teachers proud, as well. He had wanted everyone to appreciate that he was capable of killing his opponents and would have, in fact, done so if the rules had allowed it. Because the tournament was about money, too. There was a cash prize for the winner. Tenshinhan had been willing to consider the prize as a payment and had been willing to do whatever he felt was necessary to earn that payment. So he'd tolerated the rules.

But he'd also been showing off. Which was another rarity, for an assassin. He didn't usually show off.

And then, he had drawn that match against Master Roshi. Sure. Plenty of people in the world claimed to be martial arts legends - but Roshi actually was. The old man had been in disguise but it was a flimsy disguise, Tenshinhan had seen through it. And the old man hadn't seemed very dangerous but... Roshis reputation had made Tenshinhan wary. Not many people could claim to be rivals with the Crane Master. Because that also meant being a rival of Tao Pai Pai. And being a rival of the Worlds Greatest Assassin meant being dead, in most cases. Roshi was the exception and he'd been the exception for at least three hundred years. What did it mean? Had the Crane Master or Tao ever tried to kill this old man? Had Roshi beaten them?

_Roshi could have beaten me. _Tenshinhan hated the humiliation of this almost as much as what Goku had done against him in the final round. But it was a valid and critical point. Tenshinhan had won the World Tournament and he knew that he shouldn't have. He shouldn't have even made it to the finals.

Against Roshi... The old man had blocked nearly everything and had gotten some attacks in. Kicks and punches didn't sound like much - but they'd hurt. Roshi knew about the value of movement and did it with skill, he'd been in control of that battle and its direction for a while. The old man had also remained calm. Tenshinhan had not been accustomed to being in tournaments of this scale, not used to opponents that could predict his movements and really not used to people being calm in his presence. Even people who didn't realize that he was an assassin - all it took was a look at him. His imposing stature and third eye did not typically get calm reactions.

More than the actual fighting, Roshi had also struck him with words. First it had been a whisper - "See that girl in the audience? The one with blond hair and a large rifle? She works for me and she thinks that you're cute." But then it had been an announcement: "I am not going to fight with you anymore. It wouldn't be fair. You've had a bad teacher."

Roshi had walked away. The old man had let Tenshinhan win. Just like that. Roshi hadn't even used any energy techniques against him. It was an insult, as if to say 'you wouldn't survive my best, kiddo.' And it was an insult on top of an injury because, at that time, it had been true.

The next fight had been the final round. Goku, age sixteen, was not only cheerful to the point of being annoying but had become the first creature on Earth capable of leaving enough after-images to confuse even Tenshinhans third eye. Gokus speed had been unfathomable and THAT was an understatement. Goku had gone through more than half of that match wearing weights, his speed had gone beyond unfathomable after dropping those. And he'd had the sort of endurance and strength that - even before dropping the weights - Tenshinhan had only ever read about in legends. Running around at very high speeds usually caused people to get tired. Goku hadn't even broken a sweat. Goku hadn't even had the decency to get sore feet or trip or make an error. Errors could be fatal, if done at high speed. Tenshinhan had done his best to keep up with the pace but had known that he was losing. He'd been capable of speed but killing people was something that actually required patience and slow careful movements, more often. He'd blocked and had tried not to complain, using the time stuck in defensive mode to plan ahead. Trying to outlast the younger warrior. Tenshinhan had kept hoping that Goku would wear himself out and slow down eventually, like any regular fighter. He'd not yet been aware of the fact that 'Goku' and 'regular' were words that failed to appear together in sentences, much less in fights.

He had been unable to hide his surprise. That had been a distraction as well. Not just his surprise at Gokus level of skill but... The idea that this annoying kid was a student of Roshis. That Roshis style of training was capable of creating Goku. The ugly lurking suspicion that if a mere child - a mere student - was capable of so much... Then the Master had absolutely been holding back, even more than Tenshinhan had thought possible. He'd become convinced that to the members of the Kame school, this entire battle was a joke. A bad joke. Being made at his expense. For the first time in the tournament, Tenshinhan had questioned his motives for participating. The concept of losing - especially to someone so young and cheerful and who was doing the work so easily - was deeply humbling. And infuriating. He'd trained diligently but it was made clear that he still had a lot to learn.

Eventually Chaozu had, on the Crane Masters orders but also out of his own concern, used telekinesis to interfere. When your best friend and sparring partner - someone who truly knows your power - is willing to intervene... Willing to cheat... _That _had _not_ been a vote of confidence.

If only the Budoukai rules had allowed weapons. How different those fights might have been. Roshi would have had a walking stick and Goku probably would have brought his mythical bo staff but... Tenshinhan would have worn a hooded cloak. He would have had a concealed arsenal at his disposal. He'd been more comfortable and more practiced with weapons back then. There had never been a lot of call for killing people with his bare hands. It was bad manners, to kill someone with your bare hands. And messy. And left fingerprints. No sane self-respecting professional assassin left fingerprints.

The first Budoukai had been one hundred and thirteen years ago. Yet only twenty-three of the World Tournaments had been held, to date. They didn't seem to follow a regular schedule. They'd been meant to follow a regular schedule but a Budoukai could be cancelled for just about any reason and history was brimming with reasons. War. Politics. Bad weather. The outbreak of a pandemic disease. Lack of funds to rebuild the stadium. A demon and a god both sneaking past security. The growing concern that perhaps martial artists under the age of eighteen should not be allowed to enter these tournaments. The growing debate about whether the warriors capable of using energy blasts should be permitted to compete. Energy blasts _were_, in theory, an extension of martial arts but most people couldn't use them. It was discouraging, to the average contenders - to the masters of karate and judo and kung fu - to have to try to compete with the mythical fighting style that was often called shugendo. And there were a lot more karate, judo and kung fu masters on the Earth than there were energy masters. So it would be understandable, if the Budoukai did get altered to cater to the majority.

Goku had won the most recent tournament, the 23rd. He'd been nineteen when he was named the Worlds Champion. Goku had held the title for seven years now and he had been dead for one of those years. That's how discouraged average people were, they hadn't even tried to challenge him. If any other Champion had died then the title would have been reassigned already. But Gokus death wasn't public knowledge. As far as most people knew, he'd never died. He'd been wished back to life and had last been seen by the general public on international television, defending the Earth. So Goku was still officially the Champion.

The 24th Tenkaichi Budoukai might never happen and even if did, energy blasts might be outlawed. Which would probably not stop Goku from being able to defend his title - IF Goku made it back to the Earth.

If Goku _didn't_ make it back to Earth... If the 24th Tenkaichi Budoukai did happen in their lifetimes... Then who would defend the title, in Gokus place? Piccolo had finished second at the last tournament but the officials were terrified of Piccolo. They remembered his father. So that wasn't likely to happen. Kami had taken third place and the tournament officials getting ahold of him was even less likely to happen. They could declare the championship vacant and not have anyone defend it but the whole point of the tournament was to promote fighting skill. If the title went undefended...

There was an art to fighting, hence the term _martial art._ Tenshinhan had not actually been aware of this at the 22nd Budoukai. He'd destroyed his first opponents - and what good had it done him? When the battles were of the blink-and-miss-them variety, most ordinary people didn't have time to register how stunning the accomplishment was. Didn't have time to care. His reputation had only grown in the minds of his opponents and a few skilled spectators. The audience had not been entertained. As far as they were concerned, it was as if he'd fought air. So he hadn't proven anything to them. You almost had to work _with_ an opponent to have the type of fight that ended up making at least one of the warriors memorable to the world at large. If you respected someone then you went at them with everything you had. If you held back, it was an insult. The audience loved the drama. Declaring the championship vacant... It was not good business. It gave the audience one less fight to look forward to and the warriors one less opportunity to build a name for themselves.

Would the tournament officials ask, perhaps, their previous Champion of the Earth to step in and defend the title?

Tenshinhan didn't know. He had taken fourth place, in the 23rd Tenkaichi Budoukai. Would that kind of ranking count against him? But he wouldn't turn the chance down, if it was given. It didn't matter how the tournament rules changed. He could work without energy blasts if he had to.

He was thirty years old. If warriors under the age of eighteen were banned from being in the tournament... The only effect that was interesting for Tenshinhan to contemplate was that if the tournament happened within the next seven years then Gohan and Piccolo would both still fall into the banned age group. Then Piccolo would be considered an adult. Gohan would be left out of the tournament, though, for an additional five years - and that was only if Gohan took any kind of interest in the competition to begin with. So as long as the tournament happened before Tenshinhan turned forty... As long as Goku stayed lost in space and the world wasn't endangered again by then...

Tenshinhan didn't have a lot left to prove to the world but showing that he was perfectly capable of earning and keeping a title fairly... That had crossed his mind. It seemed like a distant goal and possibly even kind of pointless - the circumstances were unlikey. Anything could happen. Plus his friends and enemies already knew about his power. Why tell the world? He didn't need their approval. He wouldn't mind _having _the respect but he didn't _need_ it. He didn't need the prize money, either. And even if he won, the title wouldn't be accurate. He wouldn't truly be the strongest. That goal was bordering on unattainable anymore. Tenshinhan knew that. But on some level it wasn't about the world. It wasn't about being the strongest.

It was about proving to himself that even though winning the 22nd Budoukai had been a fluke, he was championship material.

He took aim. With a crossbow. Tenshinhan was back in his old robes, a shadow among shadows. A silent velvet patch of darkness on an obscure rooftop beneath a moonless night sky. All of the night skys were moonless anymore, the moon had been blown up - again. It had been gone for more than a year already. This was a distinct advantage to those who valued working in the dark. The absence of the moon had also reeked a few minor natural disasters related to the ocean tides, various animal migration patterns and the inability of some flowering plants to mature. Not to mention several astrologers committing suicide and a whole government-funded space exploration program being shut down for the second time. But the only effects that modern human society had really noticed were the increased amount of darkness with a matching crime rate. And that had been going on even before the fiasco with the dark mist.

Assassins were hired killers. Unless they were self-employed. It was all about finding a good balance.

Tenshinhan barely had to aim. He had never relied too heavily on weapons. But he hadn't forgotten how to use the weapons, either. He'd been born to a noble military family and raised by distinguished soldiers, he'd had more access to weapons than toys as a child. Plus he'd always been gifted in the aim department - even before gaining the third eye. Whether or not he was a champion... Deep down, he'd had the makings of an excellent assassin for a long time. He'd been proving that to himself rather a lot lately.

If restoring people to life was unnatural and threw the very nature of things off balance... Then restoring people to death... Or, at least, restoring death to people... Was this the path, to bringing the balance back?

A certain scroll was tucked into his sleeve. It had a list of names on it, most of which were neatly crossed out now. Tenshinhan had hesitated once on the first day, thinking about ghosts and remembering what it was like to be a ghost. He'd had the vague feeling that the local gods might be upset with him - and the knowledge that at least three of the better warriors on the planet WERE upset with him - but that didn't trouble him. Because what could they do? Kill him? What was so bad about that?

Tenshinhan wasn't afraid of death. Professional assassins generally weren't. They worked around death every day - well, mostly every night - it wasn't a job for anyone who couldn't deal with that. And at least he was providing his victims with nice, clean and relatively painless deaths. Plenty of average people did a lot worse to each other on a daily basis. And it wasn't as if the afterlife had been all bad. Dull, sometimes, but not an awful place. It was sort of nice to have been there, done that. It removed a lot of philosophical doubt from the process of murder. He could treat death a bit more casually than the average assassin. The afterlife wasn't such a terrible thing. He could almost recommend it.

He waited until his target was in place and released the trigger on the crossbow. A slick bolt went gliding off across the darkness to express his recommendations to another startled victim.

Honor was a great and wonderful thing but it didn't seem to get much done. Tenshinhan just felt that he was being practical.

**ooxoo**

**C**hiChi could not detect energy. But she was, privately, loving this. It was the most energy that she'd been around since Goku had left for outer space, about a year ago. It made her feel so happy, to be in a high energy environment again. She was humming and nearly dancing as she went down a corridor with a tray.

If only Gohan were feeling better. She did love her child and was taking good care of him. It was challenging. She wasn't sure what had happened. It must have been a strange fight.

Three days ago... Kuririn had shown up on her doorstep, a tad disheveled and carrying her son. Yamucha had been with him and had been carrying two other children, one under each arm. The demon had been physically dragged into the area by Master Roshi and two shapeshifters. Bulma had put some sort of special device on the demon that apparently the demon couldn't get off by himself. It was supposed to make his escape fairly impossible but he was trying anyway. ChiChi had adamantly refused to let the demon enter her house with a wide variety of axes. But she couldn't ignore the needs of her son nor the polite, reasonable request being made of her by her husbands other best friend.

She had compromised. They weren't at her house anymore. She'd packed up the thirteen kids and everything the group would need. She had agreed to take everyone in - to her fathers castle. Her father had been living alone since... Well. Even for most of her childhood, when she'd been out walking. Ox King was a giant so isolation didn't bother him much - it was hard to feel like a place was empty when you filled it. He wasn't used to having company but as long as Master Roshi was with the group... Ox King had been a student of Master Roshis. He wouldn't turn away his former teacher. Her father wouldn't have turned away Yamucha or Kuririn either. Ox King had finished his formal martial arts training long before their births but they were fellow pupils of the Kame style.

Currently the castle was a bit cramped with so many people around. But, precisely because so many people were around, the energy was _wonderful_.

The adult warriors had tried to explain what had happened - they were leaving parts out, ChiChi knew that with a mothers instinct - and had also insisted on staying. There were many reasons for this. Two of those reasons were little girls.

ChiChi had loved the little girls on sight. She loved the very concept of them. ChiChi didn't know about their true origins, all she knew was that the Earth seemed well overdue for some decent female warriors. At least they weren't aliens. It almost made her want to take up sparring again.

She'd met Shirley before. Shirley had been around the other children. Granted, the girl had pointy ears. That was a mark against her, in ChiChis view. She also had pointy teeth, which Yamucha had learned after being bitten in the arm while carrying her. But what ChiChi cared about... Shirley had dark spikey hair and the color orange looked remarkably good on this child. Those were marks in her favor. There _was_ a striking resemblance to Kuririn, now that ChiChi had seen them in the same room, but even without a nose... The first time that ChiChi had seen Shirley wearing the orange, her thoughts had been of someone else.

It didn't make any sense though. ChiChi assumed that she was just projecting her husbands features onto random strangers now. She'd heard about people doing that, when they were separated from a loved one. It was probably normal. And it wasn't as if her husband could have any other kids - she'd KNOW about that much. She trusted Goku. He wouldn't have kept any secrets from her.

So ChiChi assumed, as her son had done previously, that certain other warriors were the parents. No one had told her otherwise. ChiChi was a bit surprised to think of Kuririn as a parent. He didn't seem like a bad parent but he didn't seem at all comfortable with the concept. Shirley almost looked too old, to be his daughter. And Shirley had been with the children that had walked out of East Capital City. Kuririn didn't currently live in East Capital City, even ChiChi knew that much.

Hrm. Maybe he had lived there, in the past? Kuririn was twenty-seven. Maybe he'd already been through a divorce? Maybe Shirley was an estranged daughter? Maybe she got her pointy ears from her mom? Had Kuririn been married to someone more humanoid than human? ChiChi was curious to understand the details but it didn't seem like any of her business, to raise such a personal subject. Not with either of them.

Although, she was always delivering snack trays to her guests. Food seemed to be a good way to start idle conversations. ChiChi had learned a few things. Mostly from Puar.

Puar had been riding on Yamuchas shoulder, three days ago. The tiny blue-grey cat did not seem like a warrior but she'd been prepared to enter a battle. Instead, she and Yamucha had arrived in time to see... Actually they weren't even sure _what_ they'd seen. Some sort of an attack, difficult to describe. Kuririn had fared the best against it. The demon had not fared so well. Gohan had taken the brunt of the thing and had been knocked out. Shirley had attempted to kidnap Gohan - ChiChi was torn between being angry and wanting to laugh at this news - but was not capable of flying. Yamucha had captured her with ease.

The other little girl... Had been unconscious upon arriving and hadn't been awake much since. Something about recoil. ChiChi had regarded the child as pretty, even if she did have three eyes. It was the sort of thing that only a mother could love - and ChiChi was half prepared to become that mother, in the literally adoptive sense. She really couldn't bring herself to believe what few slivers of information the warriors had given her. The girl didn't look _that_ dangerous. ChiChi felt that the warriors might be exaggerating and so she had taken a slightly protective shine to this child.

Yamucha had witnessed the end of the battle and, after prying Shirleys teeth from his arm, had helped his friends to recover from it. Kuririn was the one who understood what the heck had transpired and lately, he'd been rather quiet. They were all living in the castle, for the moment, but they were by no means a family. ChiChi had no problem with this. It bothered her a little but the energy was so abundant - she couldn't complain. And it was geniunely nice, to see her father having someone to talk to. Roshi seemed like a more serious person, when he was in the presence of so many of his students. It brought out the responsible teacher aspect of the old man.

And it brought out the memories, as well.

Most people did not realize the age gap that existed between ChiChi and her father. She was twenty-six. Ox King had been nearly sixty at the time of her birth. It was rare for giants to live past the age of twenty, the constant strain of their own massive weight on their internal organs tended to cause serious medical problems. Ox King was in his eighties now and had kept his health. Whatever else the martial arts training had done for the giant... There was no doubt that it had extended his life. Ox King would probably live past a hundred, if no one went out of their way to make it otherwise.

Roshi was one of the few people in the world aware of this. He was also one of the few people in the world who could remember what Ox King had been like as a youngster. Together the old men would pace the castle or sit in the gardens, looking out towards the smoldering remains of the burning mountain and talking about the past. ChiChi had served them snacks and had learned more about her parents in the last three days than she'd ever expected to hear in her entire life. It was strange and comforting, to walk past all the paintings in her fathers castle now. Because most of the artwork here depicted her mother. ChiChi hadn't know much about the woman before. She'd been told a little and had then been sent out walking, so she hadn't grown up around the stories of her parents. All she'd really known about the paintings was that this was a portrait of the woman who had died giving birth to her - the woman that her father still loved completely. Ox King couldn't speak of his deceased wife to ChiChi without grieving. Her father didn't seem to mind grieving around Roshi as much. Roshi remembered, they commiserated. It had been very informative. ChiChi had begun to feel a more significant bond with the lady who had given her life. And she'd only had to menace the old master a few times, for being inappropriatate.

Kuririn wasn't saying much but he'd also been informative, in his own way. He seemed to attract stacks of paperwork anymore. ChiChi never saw him without a pencil behind his ear. She understood about writing down the energy attacks. She'd helped Goku with that, early on in their marriage. So she could see that Kuririn was writing a book on the subject.

She could have offered to help with the book but she didn't. Energy attacks did not appeal to her. No. ChiChi didn't like the principle of energy attacks. If you were summoning your energy for these things... Then you were basically throwing your soul at your opponents, right? Did that mean you had less of a soul left inside of you, afterwards? Wouldn't it shorten your lifespan, provided that you survived the battle, to throw away so much of your own soul? ChiChi had spoken to Goku on the subject and he hadn't been able to improve her opinion of the issue. That was only one of the many reasons that she hadn't wanted Gohan to become a warrior. It was one of the reasons that she'd refused to let Goku train her, as well.

Kuririn had plenty of help with the book, anyway. Yamucha sometimes wandered off, with or without the shapeshifters, but was often there to help edit and organize the papers. The demon had been forced to join this task and it was a horrendous struggle for him. Nobody had thought to ask if the demon was literate. As it turned out, he was able to read but not able to write. They were working on that. Bulma sometimes came by to check on her trap device, gloat and attempt to teach the demon. Which really just became more gloating, most of the time. Roshi and Ox King checked on the progress of the book but tended to stay out of the way.

They all checked on Gohan.

So did the other kids. The regular kids. There had been thirteen of them, three days ago. Even the shyest had been amazed to be in a real castle. They'd played all kinds of imaginary games and having Shirley back had really lifted their spirits. They weren't afraid of the demon, with Shirley around. More than Bulma, it was the kids who were correcting the demons handwriting. It was priceless to overhear those lessons.

The children trailed after Kuririn sometimes, wondering how an adult could be so short but also full of questions about what he was writing. They were in awe of Ox King because he was a giant. They'd thought Oolong was a cuddly pet and had been very surprised when the pig had bluntly told them otherwise. Moreso when he'd shapeshifted to escape the kind of affection that involves thirteen children dressing up the cuddly pet. Puar had avoided the children, often by clinging to her best friend but sometimes by departing the castle in the company of other cats. Yamucha had discovered a few baseball fans among the small group and sometimes had an entourage - but not always an admiring one. The thirteen children were from East Capital and Yamucha was signed to the professional team of the West Capital, it was an outspoken sports feud. Ever loyal to their own teams, the kids sometimes heckled him. The kids heckled Roshi sometimes, too. Pulling at his long beard and flatly refusing to believe his age, nevermind his claims of being a martial arts master.

Bulma had helped with the search. The castle had not had a working phone, three days ago. Bulma had built one. She seemed capable of building nearly anything, when bored. ChiChi tried to be grateful but had noticed the absence of a few kitchen appliances. She wished that Bulma had asked before converting them into other things. Really, the phone was good news but there was some part of her that missed having a blender.

Anyway. It wasn't thirteen kids anymore. It was four. The last three days had been very busy. Bulma was exceptionally good at locating people. It was creepy how much information she could get, by hacking world databases. Considering the state of the worlds phone lines, it was creepy that she could hack anything. But the moment that you told Bulma that something was impossible, she took it as a personal challenge. The whole trap device... That was a more disturbing example of Bulmas genius. The trap device was working. It restrained the demon and kept him from escaping. And the demon... Bulma had probably not designed this trap device with him in mind. ChiChi wasn't sure that she wanted to know _who _Bulma had originally designed the trap device for or why she'd happened to be carrying it with her. However ChiChi wasn't blind. She'd noticed Yamucha avoiding Bulma and didn't blame him. But she wasn't a hundred percent sure if he'd been the intended target. Bulma had her eyes elsewhere, it seemed.

What had Bulma truly hoped to accomplish, by building the trap device? Why had Bulma wanted to trap someone? Questioning the likely less-than-pure motives of the mechanical genius was a good way to start a violent argument. So, for now, ChiChi didn't.

ChiChi had made the first calls but everyone had helped. They'd reunited five sets of relatives from East Capital with their missing children. It just tugged at the heartstrings, every time. The people who claimed these kids... Bulma was doing background checks and Ox King demanded to see photo identification. These were thoughtful safety measures. Yamucha and Kuririn were both sensitive on the issue of orphans, being as that was how they defined themselves, and had nearly made the requirements impossible. Roshi had said something to his students and they'd backed off. The old man could give an amazing speech when he wanted to.

It was not always parents, plural, that made it. Sometimes it was just one parent. Sometimes it had only ever been just one. And there were other relatives - siblings, aunts, uncles, grandparents - who had either been acting as parents even before the world was a mess or who were willing to act as parents now, in the absence of the original set. So proper identifcation could get a bit tricky. But for ChiChi... The moment she saw these people, their expressions... Her maternal intuition had gone into overdrive. She could judge their characters. She could almost measure the sincerity. The way an adult acted around the kid and vice versa... ChiChi could tell, if they were related. If the adults really knew the child or cared for them. Thankfully, she hadn't had to chase anyone away with an axe yet.

The reunions were an emotional thing to watch. A rush of happiness and relief and worry all twisted into one lump - a sure sign of parenthood, that the worry would continue even after the child was found.

It was also emotional - but not in a good way - when a family arrived and had to be told that their kids were no longer in ChiChis care.

All of the relatives had come a long distance. Most of them had been flown down by Bulma, who had picked them up in her aircar after locating their information in a database. Others had driven down from East Capital City. ChiChi would always invite the families to spend the night at the castle before departing. It was a bit crowded but no one had turned down the offer. And that was why only five sets of reunions had ended up taking nine of the children. Because the children were all from the same city. Some had been neighbors or classmates. They'd known each other - or at least, _known of_ each other - even before their long walk. The relatives claiming one child would sometimes recognize the others in the group. They knew the parents of these other children, as well. Knew where to find these other parents - and, in one sad case, knew when a child had outlived their parents. That family had stayed at the castle, speaking with the children and talking with local lawyers, until they could file for adoption of the new orphan. With so many new orphans in the world, the process seemed to have been expedited. They'd shown the paperwork to ChiChi, Puar had certified that it was legal and the family had left with the extra child. He'd been happy to go with them.

She had gone upstairs to hug Gohan for nearly a whole hour after that tearful departure. It had been such an involved drama to watch that particular family drive away, understanding what they'd gone through just to be together. ChiChi had abruptly wanted to hold her own child. He was definitely getting better because he'd complained about that. Gohan had grown out of being fawned over. ChiChi sighed. She kind of missed what her son had been before all the battles. Once in a while, she needed someone to fawn over.

The parents who had claimed their childen were, understandably, worried about everything that had already happened to the kids. ChiChi was worried about everything that would happened to the children now. The children were in good care. She wouldn't have allowed any of the children to leave if there had been a shred of doubt about that but... Parting was just hard for her.

ChiChi had made sure that each family left with a written copy of her address. She'd been promised a few letters. None had come yet. It might take a while. Some of the families were going back to East Capital and others were traveling elsewhere. The kids would have to adjust to being around relatives again and new living situations. They might not remember to write. Even if they did... The world postal service... There had been an expression, 'going postal' which had gained a new depth of meaning after the dark clouds. To say that the system was messed up would be extraordinarily polite. The dark clouds had changed the world population. There were an estimated three billion people who could no longer get their mail unless it was forwarded to the afterlife. And of the surviving four billion or so people left alive on Earth, more than half were in the process of moving to new homes. So the world postal service was just plain going to need to reorganize and start over, possibly from scratch, in order to get caught up on all of this before it could become anything close to functional again. That would take time. Not just because it was a massive task but because first the postal service would have to hire and train replacements for all their own dead and lost employees.

She knew about the status of the world population only because the newspaper industry had started to recover. They were able to get some newspapers delivered at the castle now. There were a lot of public notices about funerals and change of address. Technically, the whole newspaper was nothing but public notices of some sort. There was an entire heavy section dedicated to the topic of missing people. It was the type of important, personal news that the reporters on the radio and TV didn't seem to think was worthy of coverage. ChiChi had already begun studying the newspapers. She'd circled some of the print. Yes, she had seen these missing children.

And had vowed that she would see them again.

So... Four regular children were still in the castle. Plus Gohan, Shirley and a sleepy little girl with three eyes. That left sixteen children from East Capital City who were still out in the wild somewhere. They'd been at her house for a while. ChiChi didn't know where they were now.

But Shirley did. And ChiChi knew that Shirley did. So she had prepared a special snack for the grumpy young lady with pointy ears. No one could resist the double chocolate mint cookies! It was one of her Recipes of Truth. As in, 'if you eat this then your taste buds will be so grateful that you will honestly tell me anything'. Because ChiChi wanted to be shown where the other kids were. She wanted to bring them to the castle, make sure they were safe and able to be reconnected with whatever family might still exist. She wouldn't mind listening to them harrass the demon about his awful handwriting. They seemed to add to the atmosphere at the castle. When kids were playing, it was hard to be serious or depressed. And then there was the matter of pride. As a parent and also as someone who'd done a lot of her own hunting, ChiChi wanted to be shown how the kids had avoided her. They'd left from her house and yet she hadn't been able to track them. That was something she wanted to figure out.

ChiChi danced past a window in the corridor, paused and then went back to the window. It was a narrow window. The second floor of the castle had nothing but narrow windows, just wide enough to hurl a weapon out of. That was the idea with castles - to be able to defend them. All the decorative architecture was on the ground floor and even most of that had been designed with military intentions. Her father had once commanded a small army. A good castle could be defended by a small army. Even against a big army.

Since the window was narrow, there wasn't much of a view. But there was a noise. ChiChi heard it and went to a different window, wanting to try and see the source of the noise. The noise was a roar and a putter. The source was a hovercycle.

Downstairs Bulma gave a triumphant whoop and yelled. "Ha! You owe me! You said that I wouldn't be able to do it but I DID!" This seemed to be Bulmas motto, lately.

The little girl with three eyes... ChiChi hadn't just assumed on sight that she knew who the father was. There was only one adult triclops on Earth that they were aware of. Anyone could reach _that _conclusion. No, ChiChi had taken it a step further. ChiChi had assumed that she knew who BOTH of the parents were. She'd said as much and had caused the other warriors to collectively go pale, because they hadn't realized how credible the theory was.

The little triclops had long blue hair. The childs assumed father had black eyebrows - ChiChi hadn't seen the warrior in person more than twice but she noticed these kinds of things about people - so where did the blue come from? Why hadn't anyone else given a thought to who the mother might be? It wasn't the right shade of blue to come from Bulma. No. Bulma had inherited pale blue hair because her father, Dr. Briefs, had pale purple hair and her mother, Mrs. Briefs, was blond. It wasn't impossible that Bulmas kids - _if _Bulma ever _had_ kids, which was an idea that Bulma had openly scoffed at the absurdity of - would have blue hair but... ChiChi had remembered another woman with blue hair. A woman with dark blue hair.

And Bulma, once she was done scoffing, had promptly taken on the challenge of locating that other woman.

The castle doors swung open. Seen from above, Ox King was a helmet. A small helmet with horns, perched atop a giant head. Roshi was short next to him. Bulma ran outside, more to celebrate that she had succeeded than to give greetings. Oolong was in disguise as a grumpy owl and perched on Roshis shoulder. He yelped when a single feather was pulled from his tail.

The woman who parked the hovercycle wore jeans, a tank top, fingerless gloves and combat boots. There was a large rifle strapped to her back, a pair of pistol belts draped from her waist and the impression that she was concealing at least fifteen other things on her person that could kill you. She had a face that was pretty but that also made people wonder if they had last seen it on a wanted poster - and they probably had. There was a ribbon in her hair, such a casual non-threatening touch seemed out of place. Her hair was curly and blond. The woman dismounted from her hovercycle. She walked over and stood before the group, scowling at the feather being held out to her.

"Hullo, Lunch." Master Roshi greeted his former maid. He was capable of blowing up flaming mountains by accident and moons deliberately. Yet the old man seemed anxious around this lady. He continued to offer the feather.

She took the feather, still scowling and tickled her own nose. The woman sneezed. The visible weapons remained but the impression of concealed weapons vanished. Her grim expression became a friendly smile. She tackled Roshi and nearly knocked him over with a hug. "Oh! It's been so long, since I've seen you all!"

Her curly blond hair had changed. It was no longer curly and had turned dark blue.

_Not the most stable set of parents... _ChiChi thought. But who the heck was she, to judge? Nobody had ever told ChiChi why Lunch was the way she was. Maybe being a parent had caused the double personality thing? ChiChi could sympathize with that. It was hard to be the enforcerer of rules AND your childs friend, at the same time.

While Lunch was being welcomed out front, ChiChi turned from the window and walked briskly to one of the doors in the hallway. Her heart was skipping with happiness. It was time for another reunion! "Hon, your Mother is here..."

The door was open. The room was empty.

ChiChis heart skipped again but there was no happiness in it now. She stepped into the room, put down her snack tray and did a quick check. Nobody was hiding under or behind furniture. "Hon..?"

The kids had all been sharing a room. With so many people staying at the castle, everyone was sharing rooms. Earlier the children had been sent here to take a nap. It was afternoon, they'd been playing all morning. The children were polite to ChiChi but had gotten on the other adults nerves a bit so a nap had seemed like a good idea. A break for everyone. Shirley had been standing guard. Four regular children and one sleepy little triclops... Gone.

ChiChi ran down the hall, suddenly aware of a change in the energy environment. If she'd been capable of detecting energy then she would have noticed it a long time ago. She nearly removed the door from its hinges, worried. And she sank to her knees, when she saw what she'd been dreading.

Gohan was gone as well.

**ooxoo**

**N**obody was following them.

Kuririn had thrown himself into his writing. Yamucha had been distracted - avoiding Bulma and helping Kuririn, trying to keep the shapeshifters safe from the regular kids and other stuff. Piccolo had probably noticed but he was being restrained by something. Gohan wasn't clear on how the trap device worked but he'd heard his friend grumbling about it. He'd overheard a great deal, while his friends had checked on him.

Gohan wasn't clear on a lot of things at the moment. His vision, his ability to move, all of his other senses - he was feeling kind of detached. He was aware of things but as if daydreaming. How long had he been... Demi-conscious? Why not. The demi-saiyan could be demi-conscious. _ha!_

He was being carried by Shirley. She was flying. How long had she been doing that? There was a triclops girl, she was also flying. The girls had worked out a system. They'd twisted some blankets into ropes, so the other four kids would have something to hold on to. None of the kids had been eager to run away but when offered the chance to _fly_ away...

"Waaaah! This is so cool!"

"You're gonna teach us to do this too, right? I wanna learn!"

"Teach me first!"

"No, me!"

Gohan tried to wrap his fragile demi-conscious mind around the notion that he was being kidnapped. Really kidnapped. By kids, even. He laughed. The very idea. It was just... Silly. He'd been kidnapped once before, though. Two years ago. By his uncle. That had not been silly. But the contrast between that situation and this one only served to make the current experience seem more laughable.

Kuririns attempt at an explanation settled down for a moment, in Gohans brain. _Hey, listen. Remember that blue four-eyed monster who attacked us on planet Namek? Guildo? Gurd? His name was something like that, anyway. He was with the idiots who posed a lot, the Ginyu Force? He was the one who could freeze time..._

At that point, Gohan had started laughing and Kuririn had stood there at his bedside looking concerned. But it was so funny! _Freeze time! _As if there had been icicles all over the place! What a mental image! No, the experience of being paralyzed by a psychic alien hadn't seemed fun while it was happening. But it was funny, now. Downright hilarious, in fact. And what if... _Ohmygosh, no... _Gohan hadn't even thought about the attack range. Had Guildo frozen time just around his opponents or had he frozen time everywhere? Had the blue alien paused the whole universe? The very idea of the whole universe being paused... So many unsuspecting creatures, minding their own business and suddenly... The idea of how they'd looked while paused and of how they'd blinked a few times after recovering their movement... What should have been scary was instead being filtered down to cartoonish. Gohan had not been able to stop laughing. Kuririn had given up trying to explain.

Yamucha had stopped by later. _Uhm. Hi? You've not had a bunch of experience fighting against psychics, right? Well. Kuririn has. Piccolo was sort of protected by his uncle. That's why they're okay. But you... Gohan, we think your whole aura was turned inside out. We can't fix it for you but you might be able to fix it on your own, if you concentrate. Do you understand? Err. What is so funny?_

The mental image of an aura being turned inside out, that's what.

For once in his life, Gohan was more sore from laughing than fighting. Only the sight of his mother had been enough to make him feel sad. Was he sad for her or because of her? Gohan didn't know. He couldn't linger on it. There had been so many other people staying at his grandfathers castle and he'd just laughed at all of them.

Now the kids had kidnapped him and Gohan was laughing too much to resist. When the regular children laughed at the experience of flight, he laughed with them.

"... What did you do to his brain?" Shirley asked, mildly disturbed by the degree of change that she'd seen in the glowing boys personality. It had taken her two days to learn flying and she'd figured it out from watching other warriors. But she'd figured out how to do it her way, without making her energy visible. Because that way, in her own mind, she was doing it better than the Crane Master ever had.

"I think I might have killed part of it." Ranshin said, also mildly disturbed. The throw-it-all-back-at-them technique was new for her. She hadn't known what to expect from the attack - which was why the recoil from using it had knocked her out. Ranshin wasn't sure how long the effects would last on the glowing boy. She hadn't known that there would _be _such serious effects. Ranshin had been hoping to just make the warriors... She wasn't even certain. She'd wanted to protect herself and her sister. She'd wanted to defeat the warriors and get away, without running away. That was all. She hadn't been thinking about side effects. Still. It was kind of useful to have reduced the glowing boy to a laugh track. He wasn't projecting trauma anymore. She could be around him without feeling horrified.

But... What if the attack had... Ranshin suddenly wasn't sure how she felt about killing anything that wasn't an android. Her opinion of the warriors was not great but they had all died before, she knew. So even if she had felt like killing them, killing them probably wouldn't mean much. And Ranshin knew about ghosts, she had seen enough of those. So killing people... It didn't stop them from being a hassle on some level. She'd just wanted to deal with the warriors and... This didn't seem like the right way. Ranshin reached a conclusion, unaware that several other psychics on the planet had also reached this conclusion for themselves. "Maybe I shouldn't use that attack again."

Shirley adjusted her grip on Gohan - it was hard to carry someone who was doubled over laughing - and shrugged. She'd heard of the phrase 'to die laughing' but wasn't about to drop the glowing boy and find out what that looked like. She had a plan. It was a plan that had gotten a bit more interesting, over the past few days. She looked towards her sister with new respect. "Hmf. No. Keep it. It works."

They flew on.

Eventually, more laughter filled the air. Not just from the glowing boy. Down below, sixteen wild looking children hailed them. Waving their arms, their clothes and branches. Shirley and Ranshin slowed and landed carefully. Their passengers jumped down. The sixteen were reunited with the four.

"Welcome back!" shouted their leader, a boy they all called Words.

Gohan collapsed in a fit of chuckling after being introduced to him.

Words was almost speechless. "...what a weird kid..."

There was a tall, noseless, pointy-earred girl standing to one side of him. And a short triclops with long blue hair standing on the other side. And nineteen regular kids who had walked an incredible distance were gathered round. "...yeah..."

**ooxoo**


	26. Duels: November 20th, 763 AD

_**Eclipse**_

**by DoraMouse**

**ooxoo**

**Duels: November 20th, 763 A.D.**

**P**iccolo was on the floor. Twitching. He dragged himself, claw by claw, into a different room. It was a journey that seemed to take an eon.

Kuririn was sitting in the air and surrounded by paperwork. He muttered to himself about how he couldn't have forgotten so much. He'd written the book once before - why should it be so hard to write again? He chewed his pencil, erased a few things and went back to scribbling. Then he noticed the squeak of claws. And glanced down.

"Which one was it this time?" Kuririn sighed but put aside the paperwork and pulled the demon to a sitting position. "ChiChi with an axe? Lunch with a rifle? Or Bulma and the trap?"

None of the ladies were fond of the demon. It was a mutual feeling.

Piccolo was at a loss. He'd had a hand blown off four days ago by a child. That was disturbing but it hadn't inconvenienced him - he could regrow limbs. The idea that anyone could put a trap on him... Bulma had slapped the metal ring around his newly regrown wrist right after that strange battle against the little girls. Piccolo had ripped the metal ring off. It had barely touched him. Bulma had smirked, taken out a remote control and pressed a button. He'd destroyed the remote. And had then crumpled to the ground. Bulma had stood there calling herself a true genius and confidently claiming that she was now capable of defeating warriors. "Science wins!" Bulma had cackled.

And it was, somehow, still winning.

Piccolo had ripped off and regenerated his own arm on the first day. He'd expected for that to be enough to cancel the influence of the trap. It wasn't. He'd tried to power up and had fainted. He'd tried to walk, run and fly away but couldn't get more than a few inches without being zapped. He could barely even grumble without being zapped.

He didn't understand how this worked. It seemed more like magic than science. He wasn't able to think very clearly about it because he was spirit-bound to his uncle. Which ultimately meant that Piccolo was feeling his own pain, twice. Kami was reflecting it back to him.

Bulma seemed to have an endless supply of remote controls. They were getting closer to indestructible every time. And the metal ring that had barely even touched him, she was building more of those...

Yesterday, instead of her usual gloating tirade, Bulma had gone so far as to brag that if she'd just had the right tools on planet Namek then not even Freezia would have been able to threaten her. Was that her motive? To feel secure? Piccolo was confused. Why was HE the test subject for this technology? Why had she waited until AFTER the battle to slap the metal ring on him? Why had she been carrying the trap around with her? Had she expected to use it right away? No, really, WHY had she picked him? Did Bulma know that she was also causing pain to the local guardian? Was Kami her real target? Or was it...

The other warriors had not reacted well to the trap device. They didn't like it but hadn't been able to do much for him. Whether or not the trap could withstand Freezia was unknown - Bulma had the tendancy to exaggerate when she bragged - but if the trap could shut down Piccolo then it was a definite hazard to the others. And if Piccolo couldn't get out of it then what could they do? The other warriors... Kuririn was close, in terms of power. But he couldn't regenerate limbs. Yamucha lived with a shapeshifter but he didn't know how to distort the length of his arms. They seemed to expect Piccolo to find a way to use his unique Namekian skills to save himself. Or develop a tolerance to being zapped and save himself. He'd tried. And had gotten zapped.

He growled a few slurred obscenaties and was zapped. The trap had to be inside of him. If he did anything much beyond breathing, his body registered it and he got zapped.

Piccolo was fairly skilled at not doing anything. He was very good at meditation. He could spend months sitting perfectly still, if left alone. So meditation seemed like a good idea, really. Maybe he wouldn't get zapped as much, if he just meditated. But... He wasn't alone in this castle. Kuririn wanted him to write down all of the energy attacks that he'd ever invented. Piccolo didn't know how to write. Bulma had given him instructions, when he was capable of taking them. So had a group of human children. The children had been insulting but still more helpful than the self-proclaimed genius. ChiChi and Lunch both called him a demon. The giant, Ox King, had not acknowledged the green warrior but would probably side with his daughter. Roshi had chosen not to take sides. The shapeshifters had been moderately nice to him, from a safe distance.

Gohan had been stolen. Yesterday. How could anyone sit around meditating, when they were aware of that?

ChiChi was out looking for tracks but she didn't know that the children had flown. And ChiChi hadn't told anyone else at the castle of her search, because - Piccolo assumed - she wanted to be the one to find them. Piccolo had seen the children fly off and had attempted to escape, repeatedly. Which was why he could no longer stand. The trap was still working.

"Your handwriting has gotten a lot better." Kuririn was trying to be nice and make conversation but he was already back among the papers. Since starting the book, he'd barely paused to take care of his own needs - so noticing the needs of others didn't seem as likely as usual. The work occupied and absorbed all of his attention.

There was a blur of energy.

Kuririn paused once more, hovering to be taller than the stacks of paper. "Oh hey, Yamucha. Have you finished writing the..."

Piccolo felt himself being lifted and was mildy surprised when this didn't result in his being zapped.

"nosorry, gottatrysomething. sorry,bye..."

The scenary blurred.

**ooxoo**

**T**he funny, but not funny in a laughing way... Funny in the sort of surreal, this can't be really happening way... The funny, as in death-is-smiling-at-you type funny, thing about Honor - _with_ the capital H... Was not really funny at all.

Honor was not just about how you decided to treat other people. Honor was, also, about how other people decided to treat you.

Tenshinhan had been well educated by experience. He knew that most assassins considered samurai to be off-limits. Because while monks preached about the value of life and bandits found the courage to survive without history, while assassins charged for the value of death and Emperors found the determination to survive WITH history... Samurai were all about Honor. They had it worked out, it seemed, to the point where it transcended life and death.

There was an old proverb: Honor is a double-edged sword. Samurai carry it.

Still. That was an _old_ adage. Possibly the wisdom was outdated.

Tenshinhan approached without concealing himself. He could have snuck up on the warrior that was waiting here for him. But Tenshinhan knew his own power. He knew his opponents power. He'd spent the last week silently encouraging people to have a nice afterlife. He wasn't threatened.

It was winter. It was the mountains. It was daytime. There was snow. If traps had been set, there would be marks in the snow. Tenshinhan kept his eyes open but didn't see any cause for concern.

Except for the swords, maybe.

A short distance from the back porch, where the robed shadow of the samurai waited, was a circle of swords. Tips to the ground, handles leaning in toward the center of the circle. The overall visual effect was a shiny metallic cone. As if an indian had pitched a very small tent that just happened to be made from long lethal blades.

"Choose your weapon." Yajirobe grumbled. He didn't need to explain why. Most samurai had strong feelings about loyalty and disliked having things stolen from them.

The books and folders on energy combat had been taken from Kuririn. The scrolls and papers about the Mutaito clan had been taken from Yajirobe. Although some of the scrolls and most of the books had belonged to Master Roshi. And the entire robbery had taken place inside of Yamuchas mansion. So yes, Tenshinhan had been expecting at least one fight to be the result of his actions. But these mountains were a natural energy block. Tenshinhan could usually detect people coming to this place without being detected. He could power up out here and not automatically give away his location to all those who sensed ki. He could come home to rest without worry of being found by anything that wasn't psychic. He'd moved the cabin to a new location, after the visit from Red Ribbon. The cabin wasn't in the same part of the mountains as it had been. None of the other warriors knew where it was, now.

But it was not strange, that the samurai had found the cabin. He lived with gods and the gods were psychic. The gods must have told the samurai where to look. And it was also not strange, that the samurai had made it out here without being detected. Yajirobe kept a low energy profile, he wasn't as detectable as other warriors.

Tenshinhan didn't stop walking. Dressed in dark clothes and boots with the hooded cloak billowing out around him, he hefted his crossbow and did a quick mental inventory of all his hidden daggers. He didn't have to get into this fight at all - it was never wise to let an opponent choose the battlefield - and he didn't have to play by his opponents rules, either. He wasn't going to choose a sword. He'd been trained in swords but they weren't his preference. And he wasn't going to be intimidated. Because he wasn't afraid of death.

The assassin crossed the dazzling snow without leaving tracks in it. He abruptly paused, in stealthly mid-step, wondering if the samurai could do the same. He wasn't afraid of death but wanted to be certain that he was closer to being on the giving than receiving end. It would be unprofessional, to die with a surprised expression.

Yajirobe leaned on the railing of the back porch and yawned, he didn't seem like a deeply offended person. Grouchy but not deeply offended. "At the Lookout, you guys always asked me why I didn't want to learn about those fireballs that all of you have chosen to rely on..."

How long had the samurai been waiting here? Wait... If the samurai was on the porch... Had he already filled the house with traps?

"Now, I'm prepared to show you why." The samurai finished. He waved a hand at the metallic display between them. "Let's see how good your vision is."

Tenshinhan did not approve of remarks being made at him like this. Since becoming a triclops he'd heard more or less every pun related to eyesight that the world had to offer. "What are you going on about?"

"There are nine swords." Yajirobe didn't really smile. That was an expression that wouldn't have known what to do with itself on his face. He'd been a serious person for such a long time. But there was a lilt of a smile in his voice and the twinkle of a old warrior who is hoping like hell that he might still be able to teach the kids a thing or two in his dark eyes. "Three of these swords have fancy names. Choose your weapon, if you'd like. Better yet - if you're feeling brave - choose mine." The samurai let that prospect sink in for a moment before he leaned back and added. "Take another step forward or attack - and I'll choose my own. Either way, we're going to duel. And you should put the crossbow down, unless you want it broken."

Swords with fancy names fell into two broad categories: masterworks and enchanted. Masterworks were often ancient and sometimes had supernatural qualities. It was not uncommon for a masterwork to be the product of multiple generations, handed down from one skilled swordsmith to the next. The unique blades tended to be more than a hundred years old before they ever made it to a battlefield, that's the kind of care and patience that went into making each one. Enchanted swords were rarely old or well made but could inflict damage through the spells - typically curses - that had been carved into the blades.

Tenshinhan knew his power. He also knew that no amount of training had been able to make him immune to magic. He scrutinized the swords. Even to his eyes, the katanas all looked about the same. He studied them a while longer then carefully said. "May I know _which_ fancy names these three swords have?"

"One of them is called Akemashite Omedetogozimasu." Yajirobe had picked a point to stare at, his gaze didn't give away any clues. He was sounding more chipper than any person within a thousand miles of a known assassin had the right to be.

_Happy New Year?_ Tenshinhan felt bewildered as he translated the name. It was an old-fashioned name. Did that mean it was an old sword? A masterwork? Had it been finished or presented on New Years? Maybe it was enchanted. What kind of magic might be on a sword, to earn it that kind of a name? Or maybe the samurai was bluffing...

"One of them is called The Point of Being Sincere."

Tenshinhan felt his chest tighten just a little. He'd HEARD of that one. It WAS a masterwork. Tenshinhan had been raised by soliders and some of those soliders had been destroyed, by such blades. The witnesses had told stories about it. There hadn't usually been survivors.

Once upon a time, not so long ago, there had been a revolution. It had started because a small empire had decided to update and get a new army. Their old army had objected. Soldiers trained with modern weapons had been pitted against the traditional samurai. It had been a massacre on both sides but the samurai had eventually lost, due to not being bulletproof. New soliders with modern weapons had been constantly hired and trained to replace the fallen ones. The samurai couldn't increase their numbers at the same rate. That was the basic gist of the story. The details were far more complex. But every military family had heard those stories.

The samurai HAD to be bluffing. How could such a reputedly evil sword look so mundane? Wait... Yajirobe was a war veteran... Had he ever said from which wars?

Yajirobe seemed relaxed. He could detect energy and power levels but he was relaxed. He knew that Tenshinhan was an assassin and yet he was relaxed. Either the samurai had become mellow from living around Korin for too long or he simply wasn't intimidated. He was a samurai. He was probably looking forward to dueling. He was probably better at dueling than sparring.

"One of them is called Whisker of the White Cat."

It was important to recall that Yajirobe wasn't just a samurai. This heavyset scruffy looking guy with the long dark hair and the thickly padded robes was in line to become a minor god. And a certain immortal white cat had taken subtle steps to protect his heir. Yajirobe had been trained at the Lookout like the rest of the Earths defenders but had been sent off to convey Korins riddle-styled messages to the residents of East Capital City when the actual battles against the invading Saiyans had started. Thus Yajirobe had remained alive. And he could have hopped into the spaceship and gone to planet Namek but Korin had suddenly entrusted him with the care of the senzu plants. So while Tenshinhan had been dead and Kuririn and Gohan had been fighting alien monsters... Yajirobe had remained on Earth. Training. Had he trained with the stranded Nameks, during their time on Earth? Or with anyone else? How much improvement might the samurai have made? Was he any faster? Could he fly yet? And for how long had he been collecting dangerous swords? Or was that not a new hobby?

Tenshinhan matched the older warriors calm. Power was power. Yajirobes hadn't changed. The samurai had hit the proverbial wall - his maximum limits for strength and speed - during their sparring at the Lookout. Every person had their limits. The soul could, in theory, increase in power forever but the physical body could only handle so much at once. The samurai would _have_ to become a minor god, in order to extend his life to the point where further training would provide him with any real benefits.

"Very nice." Tenshinhan had not put down his crossbow and now he took a step forward, hefting it again. He didn't need to take aim. The first bolt went through a wall and he could hear the traps inside the cabin going off. So the samurai HAD set the traps indoors. So the samurai HAD been expecting him to just ignore the challenge and walk past, right into all the traps... Well. That ruined the notion of going home for a break, then. Hrm. A weapons battle, why not? Tenshinhan decided that he would hate to get out of practice. The swords might be abnormally dangerous but the samurai might be bluffing. Even if the samurai wasn't bluffing... "Do you think that you'll be able to hit me with any of them?"

**ooxoo**

**"D**o not power up. Okay? It'll probably just bounce off you, if you power up."

Piccolo was amazed. They had escaped from the castle and he hadn't been zapped. He stood, marveling just to be upright again. Inspecting himself. His wrists, especially. So... Was the trap still inside him? All he'd needed was for someone to carry him out of range? Were they out of range? What WAS the range? Piccolo didn't understand much about technology but he had the sinking feeling that he could probably still be zapped. It might just take a bigger remote control.

Oolong was sitting on a sand dune a few hundred yards away, wearing dark goggles. He offered a box of popcorn to the small floating cat that was next to him and also wearing dark goggles. Puar ignored the offer and waved a fan in the air, cheering for her friend.

What the need to recreate a certain book had done to preoccupy Kuririn, the knowledge of the trap device had done to Yamucha. It had taken him a while to find the right approach for disarming the thing - and actually, Kuririns efforts with the book had been a good place to start. If this worked, there might be another book to work on. The desert bandit powered up. He tried not to grin like someone who had been both awake and out in the sun for longer than was healthy. "Uhm. This will probably hurt."

"...You realize, of course, that I can not be held responsible for my reflexes." Piccolo was willing to endure the assault. He wasn't too worried. He'd held out for a while against Freezias second form and had only gotten stronger since then. Why should the power of mere Earthlings...

A violent flare of ki took shape around the bandit. There was some orange and white in the aura but it had gone mostly red. "Of course." Yamucha was smiling like someone possessed but spoke softly. "Do you realize that I was stuck training on North Kaio-samas planet for five months after you left?"

Elsewhere, Kuririn detected the energy and registered astonishment. He wasn't the only one.

Piccolo felt his ears droop. The demon folded his arms, allowed his antenna to hide his eyes and tried to sound casual. "Ah..."

Five points of intense blue-white light started building within the flare. Yamucha was preparing to launch an attack with his entire aura, he wasn't channeling the energy through his hands.

In his mind, Yamucha could almost hear the narration of his favorite professional baseball announcer. It was the same man who did all the announcing for the Tenkaichi Budoukai - the guy had to work somewhere between World Tournaments. _And now, ladies and gentleman, for something completely different..._

Master Roshi had spent fifty years on the Kamehameha. The Divine Turtle Wave represented everything that the old man had learned from two hundred or so years worth of intense legendary training. It was his best attack, the one he took pride in - but it was not Roshis only invention. He'd invented another significant energy beam as well. Hankokubikkurisho, the Shock Wave. Most of his students hadn't even acknowledged that one. They'd all learned the Kamehameha. And that was hardly even known as Roshis attack, anymore. Because Goku had developed the improved and perfected versions. Goku could fire the thing from both hands, from one hand or from both feet. Goku had mentioned wanting to be able to do the Kamehameha from his eyes, nose and mouth as well. Roshi wasn't sure whether to be more impressed than insulted. None of them were. Goku had that kind of effect on people.

And Kuririn had taken a different route, drawing inspiration from Master Mutaito and the Mafuba for his own techniques. Yamucha, meanwhile... Was not all that interested in fighting, honestly. Yamucha was age twenty-nine and closing on thirty. He'd developed Soukidan, the Following Spheres around six years ago. He'd done a spinoff from Kuririns inventions. It was useful in battle but he'd developed the technique more for its uses outside the battlefield. Soukidan was the Ultimate Cat Toy. That had been enough.

But when you're stuck for five months on a world with high gravity, one god and the souls of two professional killers... And nothing to do but train because ghosts don't really need to sleep or eat as often as live folks... Then even if you hate training, you train. Just to pass the time.

Piccolo had been with them, on North Kaio-samas world. For a week. The demon had ignored them all during that time. If he wasn't so good at meditating, he might have been disturbed. Tenshinhan had tried to provoke the demon into a fight by starting to develop the improved and perfect versions of Piccolos own attacks, right in front of him. But Piccolo had been so caught up in the affairs of the Namekian planet and the concept of being reincarnated on the homeworld of his ancestors... Well. That was fair. The whole idea of going home to a world he'd never seen before - that was a family issue, which was the kind of distraction that Yamucha could understand. Yamucha sometimes got distracted thinking about family issues and that was without knowing anything about his relatives. If the demon hadn't been intent on ignoring them, the bandit might have tried to strike up a conversation. But there had been battles going on and Piccolo had left - had been reincarnated - to participate in those. So Yamuchas spirit had been left behind to watch two dangerous warriors develop a whole range of attacks. Tenshinhan had perfected all of the demons moves. Chaozu had been working on something else.

Yamucha had been the next to get reincarnated. The assassins had been so polite about it. They'd told him to go home, they had insisted. So they'd been left behind to train on North Kaios world for another five months. Kami-only-knew... Or actually, even Kami might NOT know... What kinds of attacks those two had developed after Yamuchas departure.

One of the things a desert bandit needs for survival is a good memory. In the desert if you can't remember which spiders can eat you or where to find water, you die.

Tenshinhan had broken Yamuchas legs once. That had been at the 22nd World Tournament. Yamucha could forgive people. Especially people who turned around and tried to save the world later the same day - but he wasn't going to forget. Yamucha had trained with them at Kamis Lookout. He had respected them and had stood on the same side of the battlefield as Tenshinhan and Chaozu, against the invading Saiyans. He was still willing to consider them as maybe-friends, in spite of some recent events. But he wasn't going to forget.

So the bandit had made the best of his time training in the afterlife on North Kaio-samas world. He'd perfected Soukidan and done some variations off it. He'd messed around - Kuririn was going to punch him - with variations on Kienzan as well. But he'd cautiously waited until he was alive again before going to work on a new attack. And he hadn't told any of the other warriors about his new attack. Because he wasn't sure that he would ever need it. Yamucha had hoped, in fact, that he wouldn't ever need it. And besides he'd been so busy, just getting back home and caught up and revoking his death certificate and then helping the world try to recover from the dark mist, that he hadn't found a ton of time to work on his new technique...

But he couldn't forget what Bulma had done to him, either. And the trap device, it had to go. That's all there was to it. The existence of such a trap was just plain creepy. The fact that the trap was working... Brrr. If anyone else had invented it, fine. Maybe. But to have such a thing coming from Bulma... Her intentions with the trap device... Yamucha'd had nightmares, even while awake.

So this time around he'd done a spinoff from Roshis attack. With a few other ideas thrown in. This new attack... It represented everything that Yamucha had learned from a lifetime of struggle. It was a tribute to his many teachers and an early birthday present to himself. The basic principle of the attack came from Hankokubikkurisho, the Shock Wave. The rest... Yamucha was still kind of experimenting. It had a bit of Soukidan, the Following Spheres and also elements lifted from his first signature attack: Rougafuufuusan, The Howling Wolf Wind.

He hadn't settled on the formal name for this attack yet.

Yamucha had a sense of humor. He'd been called Lord Hyena, the Desert Bandit for a good reason. He had appreciated that acting overly serious and screaming "Rougafuufuusan!" was more likely to cause an opponent to fall down laughing than it was to scare them. But the falling down laughing part - that was exactly what he'd wanted his opponents to do. It made the next bit of the attack more effective. Still. He had also been a weird teenager, he could admit that. A certain level of weirdness had kept him sane in the desert. And Yamucha still had a sense of humor. But as tempting as it was, to choose a weird name and try to get a smile out of the slightly terrified demon in front of him... This wasn't the time. This attack, Yamucha had decided, was going to be his last invention. It needed a good name. Something that represented him and that he wouldn't mind being remembered for. Something that might impress people when they read about it a hundred years from now.

His first signature attack, The Howling Wolf Wind, was not an energy attack. It was an energized combination, starting with a punch. Yamucha had named all the parts of the attack - doing so had helped him to keep it straight in practice. The opening punch was the Fist of the Wolf Fang. The attacks that had followed had similar names, down to the sweeping spin kick that finished the combination and was called Arc of the Wolfs Tail. If done correctly, the soul of a howling wolf - not an illusion created from his own aura but an independent animal spirit - would be visible throughout the move. As he'd improved with the attack, more than one wolf had appeared. He'd been sixteen and summoning ghost animals into combat. His giggling opponents had always been horribly unprepared for that.

Except for Goku, age twelve, who'd punched the bandit once. With enough power to remove a tooth. Such a fine introduction, really.

Anyway. For the longest time after that life-changing week of near-death adventure... Yamucha had just trained, studied and learned the attacks invented by other warriors. Starting with the Kamehameha, which had taken him a few years to be comfortable with. Everything that Yamucha had invented since then - even the non-energy techniques - had been about pure speed and control. But for this invention... Yamucha had gone back to his roots. Which meant a healthy dose of intimidation, on top of speed and control.

Now both of the shapeshifters were cheering.

The bandit was a shadow in the middle of a bright storm. There were five blazing stars of blue-white energy rotating around him, connected by multiple jagged lines of light.

Something about the soul of the desert and the power of the sun, probably. Something about howling wind, the speed of light, the heart of a bandit and the idea of a following shock wave. It was going to be a good name, once Yamucha figured it out. Right now, he considered it lucky that he'd figured out the attack. He wished that he'd had more chances to practice.

All the attacks he'd learned, all the attacks and attack variations that he'd invented... Yamucha knew that strength was not his emphasis. His own power had grown since reincarnation - it would be an insult to the North Kaio-sama, if any students of the god failed to get stronger - but the bandit was close to his limit. Piccolo was stronger. Piccolo would, probably, keep getting stronger. So if Piccolo wasn't strong enough to get rid of the trap... And if Kami wasn't able to do anything about it, either... Then none of Yamuchas lesser attacks were going to be of much help.

So his new attack... It wasn't finalized but he had to try it. This HAD to disarm the trap.

Yamucha flew at the green warrior and launched the attack.

Piccolo saw what was coming. To him, it looked kind of like a modified Scatter Bomb but rotated like a Kienzan. Which meant that it was going to hurt. He clenched his fists, closed his eyes and was - almost to a molecule - zapped.

"Oohhh... Aahhhh..." The shapeshifters intoned from where they were watching. But a moment later, there was an upset. "HEY!"

**ooxoo**

**S**words were weapons. Weapons were tools. Tools were only dangerous if they were being used by someone with skill. A weapons battle was not about finding out who had more power. It was about finding out who had more skill.

Power wasn't a handicap, though. And neither was range.

Tenshinhan had kept ahold of his crossbow. It wasn't his favorite weapon but it had some good points. Most of which were airborne, at the moment. He could launch a hail of arrows without having to get anywhere near his opponent. He could cover a wide area. He could - but he hadn't. Tenshinhan was not an archer. He was an assassin. He didn't care about filling the sky with sharp pointy things. He cared about making sure that the sharp pointy things hit a vital blood vessel. There was a pattern, to the arrows being fired. It was a classic 'if you sidestep this one then this other one over here will impair your breathing' type of pattern.

Yajirobe seemed to be aware of this. He'd chosen a sword and advanced. He was still stubbornly advancing.

They circled in the snow, sometimes leaving tracks. The sun was cold but it was out and that made the whole winter landscape glitter. The swords also glittered. The sword that Yajirobe had chosen...

It was a tactical mistake, Tenshinhan decided, to have asked about the names. Because now he was wondering which sword it was, that the samurai held. Was it a masterwork or an enchanted blade? Was it a plain katana? Were they all plain katanas?

What if they were all enchanted?

Anytime you start wondering about what might really happen when an opponents weapon hits you... That's when you are the most vulnerable to being hit.

A swish of metal and light. A clank and screech as the tip of the blade connected. It scrapped across something more sturdy than flesh or fabric. The crossbow was mounted to his arm and Tenshinhan used the weapon to block then took the opportunity to shove his opponent a few feet back. He could have inserted a kick or punch into the fight, at this point. Or an energy blast. But he didn't feel compelled. This was a weapons battle - he could win it without anything else. He could have put more distance between himself and the samurai as well. But the crossbow could be lethal at this range, too. Tenshinhan made a show of taking aim but didn't release the trigger. He circled, not wanting to have to visit a dry cleaners. That was a drawback of a strong crossbow at close range. It was messy. You could end up wearing parts of your opponent.

The samurai had to be bluffing. They were probably all plain swords.

Yajirobe recovered his footing and remembered how to breathe. The temperature didn't bother him because it was about the same as what he lived in - the difference was the fog. The top of Korins Tower meant being about a hundred feet from Earth orbit. The air was thin, up that high. You didn't have enough of it to see your breath on most days. Down here in the mountains...

The mountains were a natural ki block. If they hadn't been in the mountains, someone else would have detected them by now. And - Yajirobe wasn't as aware of this - vice versa. Location was important. Tenshinhan had moved the cabin and he hadn't been home much, lately. So not even the triclops realized that he'd picked a bad location. In most parts of the mountains, he could detect others without being detected. In this area... He wasn't as able to detect the warriors beyond the mountains right now. Therefore both the samurai and the assassin missed being able to detect Yamuchas spectacular powerup. And that was just for starts.

Yajirobe gathered his wits and slashed his way forward. The gods were testing him. It was the story of his life.

There had been a war. It had gone on a while. There had been trenches. Yajirobe was grateful that he didn't remember them most of the time. He'd staggered away from the trenches. Not many others had. He would rather not think about it but... Sometimes, he would see something. And be reminded. And right now... Was not a good time, for such distractions. But when he could see his own breath taking shape in small frozen clouds... He remembered. And the cloaked assassin in front of him was replaced with a different enemy.

And this time, he could not let the enemy win.

Yajirobe caught sight of his reflection in the blade as he swung it around. Or rather, the memory of his old reflection. He'd been younger, during the war. He could almost hear the gunfire again.

He dashed, jumped and shredded the air. Taking the blade through a special series of movements so that it appeared to be striking from several directions at the same time. It wasn't something that Yajirobe had mastered until after the war. He'd known about range, though. It was hard not to know about range. Guns could work from far away. Swords tended to require more intimacy. If you could just hit the bloody gunmen first, the sword won every time. It was getting close enough to strike the soldiers without being shot - that was the tricky part. And then the soldiers had started wearing armor. So that you couldn't just chop their heads off unless you carried a blade designed to behead a horse. Such blades did exist, they had been designed so that a samurai could do their work even against opponents on horseback. Yajirobe had tried to carry one for a while but the weight of the huge sword had not done him any favors. One emergency back surgery later, he'd reverted to trusting his life to a regular sized katana. He had eventually increased his speed to the point where closing the range was not a problem and had increased his strength to the point where he could behead his foes even when they had their armor on but...

It was the military tanks, that had ended the war. Gods, what a mess those things had made. And not an ounce of grace or speck of honor to them. So much for the _art_ of fighting.

At this precise moment something cold, hard and white whipped past Yajirobes head. It took his brain a few muddled moments to return to the present and define the object, by which time he'd already sliced it into a damp explosion of powder. _...a snowball?_

There was a small pale warrior in a big pale landscape.

"Chaozu..." The assassin sighed. His cloak had a few more rips in it now and he had a dagger gripped in one hand, the crossbow being out of arrows. "I WAS winning."

Yajirobe glanced at all the arrows. They'd been bullets, in his minds eye. He was proud to see that most of them were laying on the ground in several pieces. He idly picked a couple strays out of his robe and gave thanks for the garments thick padding.

The psychic was happily patting another snowball into shape. "You did great, Ten-san. But he's using a sword that could have killed Vegeta. Right?"

A dagger was lowered ever so slightly.

Chaozu tapped a foot. Behind him, a circle of eight swords twitched. And then, with the deliberate slowness of a creeping lion on the hunt, the eight swords levitated. All the swords that Yajirobe hadn't chosen and that Tenshinhan had chosen to ignore. Chaozu flexed his fingers and the swords moved. "I recognize three of these." He moved his fingers to indicate which three, causing them to bob in the air. "They have fancy names. Also... The sword that you have, Yaji-san... It has a name as well. Not a fancy name but..."

Swords with fancy names fell into two broad categories: masterworks and enchanted. Swords with non-fancy names also fell into two broad categories: plain and divine. Plain was the everyday everymans type of weapon. Most swordsmen started out with a plain sword - it was safer, to train with a plain sword - and some never needed anything more. Divine was what happened when a masterwork got enchanted. Blades that were plain or enchanted were abundant. Masterworks were rare. The number of divine blades known to humanity were so few that even people who had no interest in swords sometimes learned all of their names.

_There was another... I was tricked...?_ Tenshinhan leaned back from the samurai. Hoping that his friend was making a joke. Glad that he was practiced at keeping his expression neutral.

Most divine swords looked divine. They'd be covered in symbols, encrusted in jewels or glowing with energy. Even most enchanted swords or masterworks did not look normal. They tended to get decorated and become ceremonial. They weren't proper weapons for combat, after that. Yajirobe avoided such swords. If you had something that was practically screaming about how powerful it could be or how rare it was, it was going to be nothing but trouble to hang on to. There would be attempts to steal the blade and the invitations to duel would be endless. Everyone wanted to make a name for themselves by defeating or capturing these kinds of swords. And if you went into a battle with a weapon that had all the telltale marks of something special... No. Why create expectations? Why give up the element of surprise? All the best katanas, Yajirobe felt, looked plain.

The blade in his hands was almost too plain. It approached the concept of plain from an unspeakable distance. There were myths about gods who sometimes took on regular human shapes, to see what the experience was like. This sword was not a conscious thing but it came close to being the fulfillment of such myths.

"Didn't have this a year ago." Yajirobe grumbled. He wanted to relax or hack something to pieces - anything was better than waiting to find out whether the battle was truly over. But there was a very dangerous person with a dagger still aimed at him and another very dangerous person with eight floating swords, three of which would be extremely serious problems if they hit. Yajirobe was feeling anxious and so he became talkative. "Don't know if the gods would have wanted me to use it against the Saiyans, anyway. They keep telling me that we have to let some things happen..."

"The future wouldn't get here properly, otherwise." Chaozu agreed. He tossed the snowball up and gestured. A sword slashed above his head. The snowball vanished as soon as the blade touched it. Not fell apart. Not melted. Vanished. Chaozu grinned. "Whisker of the White Cat. That one was made to honor Korin, wasn't it? Enchanted. By monks."

Tenshinhans brain had taken a different path. "There's a sword that could have killed Vegeta?" He spoke in a tone of voice that added 'and you're going to have to let me borrow that, indefinitely.'

"Uhm. There are probably all kinds of weapons that can kill Saiyans." Yajirobe had caught the tone and was gripping the hilt of his blade more possessively now. He'd worked hard for this. "You could probably tear them up with about anything - but only if you could actually land a hit. And the way they go flying all over the place like comets? Hmf. Good luck with that."

Chaozu considered. Emperors were often called upon to act as judges in important cases, it was one of the parts he'd liked. "Okay. Here's what's going to happen. Ten-san, put away the daggers. Yaji-san, put away the...sword." He decided not to speak the weapons name. Chaozu looked towards his cloaked friend. "He has senzu. If you'd done anything short of killing him, he would have survived. And if you had killed him then we'd have more than just avenging gods to be worried about. So it's good that you didn't." Then he turned to the samurai. "But you have allowed me to gain control of _this_..." Chaozu wiggled a finger and a different sword behind him shivered. "The Akemashite Omedetogozimasu, correct? Enchanted by a drunken madman. So you're going to have to leave the senzu with us."

Tenshinhan waited until the samurai had reluctantly handed over a small cloth bag. He checked the contents, to be sure, and found that it was indeed just senzu beans. There were not many of them.

"The plants aren't doing so well." Yajirobe muttered. He started to walk. _Because I've not been there to take care of them much. We're already out for this month..._ He thought and was glad that he'd saved some of the harvests from past months. Once Korin trusted you with something, it was your responsibilty alone. Thoughts like this made Yajirobe wonder what the cat had been thinking, to present him with a divine sword. It was the nicest thing that anyone had ever done for him but probably also the most insane. Maybe he shouldn't have accepted the blade.

The duel had been reduced to a spar. He'd barely even scratched the assassins cloak. No matter how plain the weapon looked, it did not work in the same way as a plain sword. Yajirobe wasn't accustomed to it yet.

Chaozu flicked a katana into the ground directly in front of the samurai, blocking his path. "Two more things, Yaji-san. Sorry. First - you need to come down more often. I am not kidding. If you want to keep a sword with THAT kind of potential then you're going to have to get better at using it. So from now on, you train with us. At least once a week. Or else."

Yajirobe made a mental list of all the possible excuses he could give but was discouraged by the vibrating sword in the ground at his feet. Also by the idea of precisely what 'or else' might include. Also by the notion that Korin may have intended for all of this happen. And finally, also because of the truth in the words. He _was_ going to have to get better at using this blade. Yajirobe did not feel calm but managed to look it. He had not put the sword away because there were still too many weapons pointed at him. "...And?"

"At the battle against Vegeta... How did it end?" Chaozu did not have to move his limbs to move. He could zip through the air without having to lean in any direction. He was clearly steering his flight with his mind - and was doing this at the same time as talking, making snowballs and levitating swords. It was, to the samurais dismay, impressive. Chaozu was hovering next to him now.

"Vegeta lived." Tenshinhan put the daggers away and answered the question, even though it hadn't been asked of him. He was starting to feel bored and let his focus slip to other things. He'd been working before the sparring and now the cabin was a mess of traps. Chaozu was here and that meant there would be some paperwork to sort through. If Yajirobe was going to be coming down more often, did that mean they shouldn't move again? Or maybe finding them could be part of the samurais training? But that would mean moving every week. "We died. You know that."

"True." Chaozu continued experimenting with snowballs and swords. This was kind of fun. He'd had to study swords, while growing up. He'd never really gotten to use them, though. The memory had mixed feelings attached. Chaozu had always been interested in the history and different styles of fighting but... Anyone who attacked the Emperor had to die - those were the rules. And so of course, all of the brave and excellent people who had been willing to teach the Emperor about self-defense... Had not lasted very long, in their jobs. Or their lives.

Sometimes, he was glad about the revolution. Even if he had needed to use Noushiken an awful lot.

"But Yaji-san was there, at the end of that battle." said Chaozu.

"Hmf. For all the good it did anybody." Yajirobe remarked, on autopilot. He was so accustomed to being hard on himself that he didn't let anyone else beat him to it.

Chaozus expression brightened. "I don't know about that. But if you want to do more good - tell me where they buried the other Saiyan. Guess that I missed that part, being dead and all."

The samurai gave this some consideration. It bothered him not to have a clear answer. He was sworn to silence on many things but this was not one of those things. It would have been nice, to have been able to give a clear answer. "Don't know..." Yajirobe finally said. "I wasn't there at the start. Korin sent me off, remember? By the time I made it... The fight was mostly over. Vegeta escaped. Goku and Gohan let him. Kuririn was barely standing." The samurai put away his sword with care and thought about this some more. "Roshi came by. Korin was with him. So were Bulma, ChChi and the talking animals. I had to pick Goku up because he wasn't moving. Kuririn carried Gohan. Nobody else was around. When we collected the bodies off the original battleground... It was just you..." He glanced towards the assassin, who was walking away. "...and Yamucha and Piccolo."

Another long pause.

"I know who you mean." Yajirobe held out his hands, palms flat and empty. "I saw him on the televisions. The guy who came with Vegeta. He was taller."

"Nappa." Chaozu prompted. Tenshinhan had already gone indoors to start clearing traps.

"Was that his name? Huh. Weird." Yajirobe had noticed the plant-related theme of Saiyan names. When you were Keeper of the Senzu, you noticed plant-related things more often. Why should dangerous warriors from outer space have plant-related names so consistantly? Saiyans didn't strike Yajirobe as being the types to garden. He shrugged. "But I don't think there was anything left of him. If there was, I didn't see it. If he got buried, that would be Kuririns department."

**ooxoo**

**"O**w..."

The bandits newest invention, a not-yet-finalized and not-yet-named attack, had rotated like a Kienzan. It was not, unfortunately, a match for the geniune article.

Kuririn, looking exactly like someone who has been staring at papers for many a long hour and wearing the same clothes for about a week, was bristling with the need to defend his actions. He still had a pencil tucked behind his ear. The writing had a goal but it was also a nice escape, it had allowed him to avoid dealing with other issues. He'd been dutifully avoiding them for days, concentrating on his book. But this... Had broken his concentration. "I thought you were going to kill him! What was I supposed to do?!"

When two energy techniques collide... If they are of a similar power, they cancel each other out. If one is noticably stronger, it tears the other apart. Thankfully... Kuririn had been aiming to protect someone. So he'd guided the attack differently. Instead of a flat energy disc rotating towards him like a giant buzzsaw, Yamucha had seen the wide spinning center of the bright disc skip across his path. He'd been moving too swiftly to change direction and so his attack had been redirected, backfiring.

Piccolo had not been zapped by the full force of the new attack. The Kienzan had shielded him. It had also scared him half to death. Because the Following Disc had skipped across his path as well, directly in front of him. He'd had his eyes closed but had felt the heat of the passing attack. He'd been aware of the energy. It could have easily been thrown at the wrong angle and would have chopped him to pieces if that had been the case. Piccolo hadn't been powered up, after all. He'd been willing to endure the bandits attack. But the monk had so much speed... And the impact of the bandits attack on the large spinning energy disc had created a sort of flashpoint...

"You should have at least told me, if you were only going to spar!" Kuririn glanced from side to side. He'd grounded them both. He felt mildly concerned but was leaning more towards fed up. "WHEN were you going to tell me?"

"Kuririn..." Yamucha lay on his stomach and propped himself up on his elbows. He didn't feel ready to try standing, sitting or crouching. His own attack had exploded around him but being in the center of the rotation had also, oddly, protected him a bit. He was more disoriented than pained. He pinched out a few tiny flames that had caught in his dark hair. He was going to need a haircut, one of these days. "...warn me, next time, okay?"

He was aware of the shapeshifters. Oolong was cowering behind a sand dune in the distance. Meanwhile Puar had rushed to his side and was now standing on his shoulderblades. "YEA!" The little cat shouted. "Be more careful!"

Piccolo hissed his agreement and tried to sit up. He wasn't sure if the trap device inside him was still functional.

"Hmf. You're welcome, I'm sure." Kuririn was thinking about the book again. If he had just seen what he thought that he'd seen... That would be a new chapter. Which was a bit annoying. Because he hadn't finished getting all the old chapters back together yet. The project seemed to keep growing. He took a step towards the fallen bandit. "What gives you the right, to keep doing variations off my attacks anyway?"

The bandits expression tensed. Puar, who knew her best friend better than anyone else on Earth, also tensed and then retreated to the sand dunes.

Kuririn ignored this red flag. "Is that all you did in the afterlife? I was out risking my life to bring you guys back and..."

"...YOUR attack?" said Yamucha. It was an insult! The new attack was his legacy, it was supposed to represent _him_! It had elements from all of his past inventions. And yet Kuririn, one of the most skilled warriors on the planet for appreciating the individual traits of each attack - the person who WAS in fact writing a sort of field guide to energy combat - had mistaken the attack for something other than original.

Two creatures, mostly humanoid, emerged from the sand dunes and darted over to Piccolo. One was pink and complaining about the danger. One was blue and hissing that they had to protect Kami if they wanted the dragonballs to remain in existence. They were both wearing dark goggles. They retreated to the sand dunes, taking the demon with them and arguing in hushed whispers the whole way.

Yamucha was not easily angered. The bandit had been dealt enough rude shocks in his life - and afterlife - to be able to deal with situations in stride. He was better than most at thinking clearly during times of stress. But right now... The warrior in front of him... Was ranking as pretty arrogant. And Kuririn was two years younger. And Kuririn already HAD plenty of attacks to his credit. Not that Kuririn even needed those attacks to, for example, abruptly power up and level someone elses mansion.

Even friends are not always able to be friendly to each other.

"That was a variation on Kienzan, wasn't it?"

"No." Yamucha pushed himself off the ground with his hands and stood. A small orb of energy separated from each hand as he was placing his feet. Then the spheres started spinning, flattening out. The orbs became two medium-sized discs of orange energy, one was spinning clockwise and the other one was spinning counter-clockwise. The discs stacked together and a vortex of heated friction rapidly took shape in the space between them. They could, Yamucha knew, be guided. "But this is."

**ooxoo**


	27. Shocks: November 21st, 763 AD

_**Eclipse**_

**by DoraMouse**

**ooxoo**

**Shocks: November 21st, 763 A.D.**

**"I**t ain't right." said a boy named Nary. He'd never expected to hear himself saying this sort of thing, on this sort of subject. "I know he's alien and all but..."

There was a group of around twenty children who had walked a long distance. They were living together in the wild. They had been doing this, more or less, since the dark mist. They didn't feel able to return home. They didn't feel safe returning to their families. Some of them didn't have families anymore. Most of them didn't have homes anymore, either. As former residents of East Capital City, they had seen the damage done by invading aliens firsthand. Most of these children were under the age of ten. It would have only taken a three year old, to have been old enough to have seen the world endangered twice. Lessons of the past didn't give these children a lot of confidence about the future. How could they feel safe anywhere? There was a way. They wanted to become heros. They wanted to learn how to fly and fight and...

Shirley had a plan. It didn't involve stealing the training equipment from the Red Ribbon Army anymore. It did involve kidnapping the only demi-saiyan on Earth. Who, if he'd been anywhere near his right mind, would have done more than just laugh at them.

Gohan was aware, in a detached way, of what was happening and it made him ill. But he was not in top form. Whatever had happened to his brain... It was not wearing off. He'd been kidnapped for at least a day and a half now. Maybe more. He'd had his aura turned inside out perhaps a week ago. And he'd been laughing ever since. Which made even simple tasks... Well. He hadn't slept much. He could fall asleep laughing but not stay asleep, for very long. And anytime that he had tried to eat, he'd ended up choking. So gathering his power was out of the question. And so was asking questions - the laughing impaired his ability to speak. Gohan was a scholar at heart and would have liked to have tried to reason with these other kids. But he was too sore from laughing to even feel any pain.

He wasn't tied up. Even in his current condition, Gohan wouldn't have tolerated that. Not that his captors had anything to tie him up with.

They had, however, tied a few things to him.

Nary was not a warrior. He'd been born and raised, up until two years ago, on a farm. He did not have the kind of strength that comes from fighting evil alien monsters in battles that might last for entire minutes. No. He had the kind of strength that came from getting up at the crack of dawn every single day for most of his life and doing salt-of-the-earth honest hard work outside until after the sunset, no matter what the weather was like.

It had been especially hard to try and keep up with the farm after some dang evil alien had landed in their crops and killed his father. But Nary had done it, anyway. Someone had needed to. The farm didn't stop having work to do just because you didn't feel like working on it anymore. The livestock and the plants weren't going to suddenly take care of themselves. If you wanted to eat then you had to stick with the routines that had put food on the table. His mother had tried to help with all the chores but she'd been crying a lot. Nary didn't like that memory. Because there hadn't been anything that he could do, to make his mom stop crying. She had eventually found someone to buy their farm. That was when they'd moved to East Capital City. His mother had said that living in a city would be a good thing, a fresh start. But the change in lifestyle had been enormous. Nary had, at age eight, entered a public school for the first time. All his previous schooling had been done at home and through the mail. So of course, he'd been picked on. He'd been the new kid. He had an accent. He didn't know about the same things that all his classmates did - he knew about farms. And then the evil aliens had landed in the city and destroyed part of it. And then, not even a full year later, the dark clouds...

Nary knew that he didn't have a mother anymore. Didn't have a home to return to. What Nary didn't realize was that he was currently trying to defend the strongest warrior on Earth. Who was, as it happened, the nephew of that first lone evil alien.

Detached though he was, Gohan had put it together. _My uncle killed your dad... My uncle killed MY dad, too... _There was so much that Gohan wanted to say. If only the memory of his uncle wasn't so utterly hilarious, at the moment.

The group of kids had three distinct leaders. Words was by far the most influential. Shirley was the strongest. But... Nary was a farmer.

The children had walked out of city. For most of them, that had been a new experience. They'd been born and raised in cities. They'd scavenged their way out of the urban wreckage but once in the wild... It was a brave new world. Shirley had become the hunter for the group but only after Nary had explained the concept of hunting to her. She hadn't known about it. All the questions about plants, animals and living off the land had been directed at Nary. He'd told them what was safe to eat, what to avoid and so forth. He'd shown them how to choose good camping spots, build campfires, skin dead animals, cook food and boil water to make it safe. Nary wasn't very good at speaking though, so Words had often helped him teach the others.

Nary turned imploringly to Words now, seeking help to make his argument.

But Words was a boy. And Shirley was a girl. And he seemed to like her. Shirley hadn't noticed. She might have been the only one. And as much as most of the children respected Nary, as much as they had depended on him... Words knew their secrets and had their trust. Shirley had their admiration. Shirley was their hero.

And Shirley had a plan.

"It ain't right..." Nary repeated, through gritted teeth. He could have picked their laughing prisoner up - Gohan was strong but, being six years old, did not weigh more than a large haybale. Which was something that Nary had a lot of practice at lifting. But Nary was aware that picking someone up would mean having his hands full. And all those fights at the city school came back to him. There was a value, to having empty hands. So he just stood beside Gohan instead. Prepared to fight but hoping that someone would listen.

"What the aliens done, was _that_ right?" said Words. He was standing next to Shirley.

Shirley had pointy ears and dark spikey hair and no nose. She was tall for her age. She looked alien, in Narys opinion. Even when she was standing on the ground. He liked her less, now that she could hover. But at least Shirley had walked with the group. She'd done all right by them. She'd shown herself to be worthy of trust. It was the other girl who was giving Nary the creeps. The short one, with three eyes and blue hair - she HAD to be an alien.

Ranshin hovered nearby. She hadn't walked with the group so she didn't attempt to force any authority on them in this matter. She was listening and trying not to read their minds. She was hovering and trying not to show her energy. She wanted to figure out how Shirley did it.

Words flashed a winning smile. The guy was so darn likeable. He didn't talk down to anybody. He made people feel heard and respected. He made people pay attention. "Look, I understand that you don't like this but we've explained that the alternative..."

The alternative. That had been Shirleys original plan. Steal or build some training equipment. Then train. Hard. For years. Because it had taken Shirley her whole life to get as strong as she was and she was nine years old. She'd been fighting with robots nearly every day, up until about half a year ago.

"...it would require a lot of time." Words was a slightly geeky looking kid. For all that he'd said to the group, they didn't know much about him. He was nine years old. He had short blond hair. Both of his parents had worked. He'd frequently been left in libraries while waiting for them. "What if we don't have a lot of time?"

The children of the group wanted to become heros. Quickly. The sooner, the better. They were impatient at least in part because they were kids. To anyone under the age of ten, the prospect of training for years... It sounded like a long time. They couldn't fully grasp such a long time. Of course it sounded like a long time. Five years to a five year old - that was their whole life, done over. Nine years to anyone under the age of nine... It was incomprehensible. Why should they have to wait? Why should the world have to wait? Aliens had already come to the Earth twice - and in Narys experience, three times. All in the past couple years. The world was still a mess from those visits. So much had been lost... The world needed more heros. Now. Yesterday. Years ago. Because what if there were more aliens? And what if those other aliens were already on their way to Earth? What if the world didn't have years before the next visit? What if the evil aliens landed next week? What could they do?

They had to do something.

These children were incredibly, deeply and horribly frightened. They felt protective of a world that no adult had been able to protect. They were anxious for a future that they felt, in a very real sense, was their responsibility.

East Capital City had been known for many things, before the aliens had ever visited it. It had been voted one of the best places to raise a family. It had tradition and history and, at the same time, a vibrant and active social scene for families. Good schools. Tons of clubs and organizations for children to join. Hence even the very youngest of these children had been told, at some point, that they were the future. Work hard, study hard, do good things - because you are the kids. And kids are the future. So if you want a good future then you have to be good. You have to do the right thing.

What was the right thing, exactly?

"Ya see, if ya do this..." Nary wished that he had a better speaking voice. "Won't it make all of you..."

"Heros." Words filled in the blank with cheerful optimism.

_demi-saiyan... _Gohan filled in the blank as well and laughed at the idea. Beneath the laughter, he felt sick and dizzy. The plan was a horrible violation of pretty much everything that he'd ever imagined. Yet it was also a strange kind of relief. Because if this plan worked then technically, he was no longer going to be the only member of his species. And it might not even kill him. And if it didn't kill him then he would get stronger.

But so would all of them. If it worked.

Shirley had been thinking, at first, of her own training. She had gotten stronger mostly from punching holes in prototype androids. She had been willing to assume, at first, that if she could just get these kids the chance to punch robots and follow the sort of training that she had done then they would increase their strength. But... Maybe, she had thought more recently, it would take more than that.

The Red Ribbon Army had created the genetic children. The Red Ribbon Army had taken very small bits of existing strong warriors and put them together in order to create the genetic children. Shirley knew this. She had been aware of it even before being forced to spend approximately seventy-two hours in the same building as some of those warriors. She had avoided them and they'd ignored her. They were astoundingly strong. How her sister had stunned them, Shirley still did not understand. Something about attacking their brains. It had been a lucky shot, whatever it was. Ranshin had been floored by it as well though. So Shirley did not feel inclined to inquire about learning the attack. Instead she'd focused on her version of flying without showing off. And also on the plan...

If Red Ribbon could take tiny bits out of existing warriors and stick those bits into other things, to make those other things stronger... Then... Why couldn't anyone else try doing that?

The glowing boy was easily the strongest thing that Shirley had ever detected. But his constant laughing seemed to weird out his friends, they'd left him unguarded. Taking the glowing boy out of the castle had not been a challenge. The challenge had been explaining her new plan to all the other children. Even with help from Words, it had taken this long to get the group to agree.

Nary was the only opposition left. "So what yer saying..." He struggled to put the thoughts to his vocal chords. "Is that we gotta become aliens to be heros, then?"

"We have to be _better _than the aliens." corrected Words. "And in order to be better than them, we have to understand them first. Know thy enemy."

"But... We don't even know WHICH bits you have to take out and..."

There was a regular human girl in the group. She was ten. Her name was Rita. Her father had worked as a nurse but had been studying to become a doctor. Rita had helped her dad to study because that was about the only time they had together. During the long walk out of East Capital, Rita had helped Shirley teach the group about first aid and had helped Nary teach the group about which plants to avoid. She was the one who could operate a sewing machine and who had made most of their clothes. She was the one who had tied things to Gohan.

Nary spun towards her, pleading. "It ain't SAFE to mix bits... Rita! You gotta tell em!"

"...uhm..." said Rita. She felt nervous to be the center of attention. She didn't like the sight of blood or even the prospect of seeing blood. Because she had read about all sorts of bad things that could happen, when someone was bleeding. But she'd also visited her father at work a few times. And she had learned to survive in wild. Visiting someone who worked in a hospital meant dealing with blood. Eating things that were freshly hunted meant dealing with blood. Rita still didn't like it but she could handle it. You just had to be careful and wash your hands a lot. And while she understood what Nary was afraid of, she was more afraid of not doing this. She wanted to become a hero. She wanted for all of them to have that chance. "I think it can be done safely." She reached down and tugged at the vines wrapped strategically on Gohans arm. She tightened them. "He has good veins..."

Gohan, wanting to calm down and defend himself, tried very hard to focus on a mental image of his mother. He was too nauseous to focus on anything.

"And we have clean water." Rita finished, wringing her hands. "But I'm not a real doctor..."

"You are for us." Words made the cheerful compliment sound like an order. He addressed the group as a whole. "Lets get started. Who wants to be the first hero?"

Ranshin, who had been listening and hovering and thinking about all kinds of things, landed. She walked towards Gohan and lifted the delieriously chuckling boy by the scruff of his neck. She held him towards Shirley. "You can sense the power." Ranshin accused. "I seem to have killed part of his brain with his own power. HE can't even handle his power, do you understand? If you put even a tiny bit of that power into anyone else... Are you prepared for that risk?"

"I'll be danged..." Muttered Nary, who was too unnerved by the little triclops to have stopped her. The most alien looking child he'd ever seen, the one who'd been with the group for the shortest amount of time - she was the one that was going to take his side? That was unexpected.

_You don't want to lose your new friends, right? _Ranshin thought at her sister. She was concerned. _They aren't used to having power. You can't just dump power on them and expect good results! Remember what the Crane Master taught us!_

Shirley glared and the temperature seemed to go icy. Quoting the Crane Master was not a good idea around her. "Well, then." She pushed back a sleeve. "I'll go first. To prove that it is safe."

**ooxoo**

**T**here was a castle. There was a room full of paper.

The problem with writing things down... Is that sometimes... The translation of an idea into words... Leads to more ideas.

During five months in the afterlife Yamucha had only invented about four variations on Soukidan, the Following Spheres. Only about two variations on Kienzan, the Following Disc. But now he was mildly charred and bandaged and sitting in a room full of paper. His long dark hair was tied back in a ponytail that was held in place with a rubber band and a spare pencil. He sat in a chair, exhausted but wide-eyed and scribbling away furiously.

Kuririn was nearby and in a similar condition. Their short battle yesterday had lead to an explosion of ideas. They'd had to stop fighting just so that they could write all this down. It was good stuff.

Working together, fueled by caffiene and conversation, they'd been writing constantly since their return to the castle. The natural chemisty of their friendship was intact - things just clicked. They had known each other for ages. Kuririn remembered what his friend looked like, before the facial scars. Yamucha remembered a time when Kuririn had not been more than two feet tall. Making peace had been easy. Over the years they had given encouragement and help to each other, witnessed the impossible repeatedly and counseled each other through death and reincarnation. They had stood on the same side of the battlefield together. Now they hardly had to speak in complete sentences to each other, to provoke and share inspiration.

They had found several new variations. They had lost count of how many. And they were still finding more. They were trembling with the anticipation of it. There was a rush of adrenaline that came from justing pinning it all down. Attacks that they never hoped to use... They already had the basic formula. They'd invented the basic formula years ago. They could write it down. But now, for the first time in ages, they could envision tweaking the formula. They could imagine all these attacks... And it gave them a vague sense of hope, to be so awash in a wave of ideas. It gave them a sense of relief, to get it all written down. And a sense of accomplishment. It wasn't often, that these friends had been given the luxury of collaborating.

In the space of a day, Yamucha was up to a dozen variations on Soukidan. But what he was working on now, mostly, was combining the attacks. The Following Spheres could be guided. So if you got them to spinning then they could become Following Discs. You could switch back and forth, from orbs to discs, to catch an opponent off guard. You could stack them together, attaching the orbs to the discs, to add more steering or power. There were all sorts of crazy things that suddenly didn't sound impossible anymore. In writing, it was even looking obvious - why hadn't they thought of this sooner?

Because they hadn't known enough about fighting with energy to think of it sooner. That was probably about right. Yamucha had invented Soukidan six years ago. Kuririn had invented Kienzan at least two years ago. All the battles and the training that each of them had endured since then... Had taught them a lot. They just hadn't really paused to realize it.

Kuririn was working on recording an attack that, two years ago, he'd never expected to even think of in his lifetime. Scatter Shot was already obscenely powerful. He'd never given much serious thought to perfecting the technique, it didn't need to be perfected. But the idea had arrived regardless and Kuririn wasn't about to let it slip. If Yamucha could turn Following Spheres into Following Discs and vice versa... Then all the guided orbs of the Scatter Shot... Maybe they could become discs, too. On paper, it looked like something that would kill him if he tried it. Yet in theory... Even Piccolos variation, the Scatter Bomb... If the hailstorm of guided orbs were replaced with mini-Kienzan...

It gave Kuririn chills to consider what such an attack might be capable of. He was filled with dread and excitement.

He was sitting atop a stack of paper, almost taller than himself, that represented all the new Kienzan variations. He was torn between not wanting to ever have to use these and thinking that he should at least test them out before writing them down more neatly. Kuririn considered his makeshift chair to be mostly rough drafts and hoped that he'd be able to read his own handwriting later. He'd been so overwhelmed, with the need to get all the ideas down... His writing wasn't very coherant.

At least it was more legible than the demons.

Piccolo was not able to be of much help with current projects. He'd been zapped from the inside out before the battle by the trap device, zapped from the outside in by Yamuchas attempt to destroy the trap device and just generally mangled by the residents of the castle since then. And most of them had, ironically, only been trying to help. So Piccolo was currently a growling bundle of bandages on a cot. Which was rapidly getting lost under the paper. They didn't worry too much. Piccolo had the ability to regenerate. Piccolo had been through worse. He might just need some rest, they figured, and then he'd be fine. Fine in the sense of wanting to rip their heads off. Which would be a good excuse, perhaps, to test some of these new attacks...

They weren't sure, actually, if the trap device had been broken. So Piccolo might not be able to recover fully if the trap was still working. But they didn't know how to check.

Ox King and Roshi were still at the castle. The elder warriors seemed to have a lot to talk about but only with each other. They'd been willing to help turn Piccolo into something that looked like it should be buried inside a pyramid but had not taken an interest in the writing. Puar had helped with the writing for a while but had then gone off to get some sleep, claiming that she had to look good for her upcoming date. Oolong had been considerate enough to try and make Piccolo comfortable but had then avoided them. Lunch was stuck in her friendly mode and - after much initial fussing over the wounded warriors - had brought them snacks.

ChiChi was gone. Everyone at the castle had noticed. And because ChiChi was gone, certain other absences didn't worry them. ChiChi must have stepped out for something and she must have taken Gohan with her, that's what they thought. She must have taken those other kids, as well. When Kuririn glanced at the world of energy... Gohan was out there. And the other kids, it felt like they were near him. Kuririn couldn't detect all of them. He didn't know them very well. He barely knew ChChi, so he wasn't alarmed to not be able to detect her right away either. In his mind he had already assumed that they were all together and so he didn't even look at the world of energy very hard.

It was a relief. If ChiChi had taken her son then maybe Gohan would get professional medical care. Maybe that's what he would need, to stop laughing all the time. It was great to know that Gohan was even capable of laughing but... Really, the kid had been making himself sick. It had been hard to watch or even listen to - and sound carried quite well in this castle. They'd kept hoping for it to wear off. Kuririn had sat in the room with the boy a few times and had tried to talk him to a cure but Gohan had just laughed.

And if ChiChi had taken the other kids out with her... That was... A mixed burden. Kuririn still didn't know what to think of Shirley. Being a parent was an idea that... Was both appealing and frightening. Mostly frightening. Because Kuririn lived on a tiny tropical island with Roshi and Oolong. And that didn't seem like the right environment, to raise a little girl in. Not even a little girl who could already fight and who seemed capable of glaring a hole through people. But leaving would mean truly being on his own, a single parent in every sense and... And just the idea of leaving by itself was frightening. He had lived at the Kame House for the better part of fourteen years. He was comfortable there. Why should he give up his home, move away from his friends? Where else could he go? He'd accidentally flattened one of the best options - Yamucha probably would have let them stay at the mansion..

But that was assuming that the pointy-earred little menace might want to come with him. Which seemed a dangerous thing to assume. And why did he keep thinking of her as little? Shirley was well on her way to being taller than him. But even if she became taller than him... What stung... Was that this girl, this potential daughter, she didn't seem to like him. At all.

Kuririn hated her and was heartbroken, all at the same time. If he hadn't thrown himself into his writing then he probably would have been found in a corner, rocking back and forth while muttering nonsense to anyone in earshot about how being a parent like this hadn't been his choice or his fault and so what could he possibly do to make up for the nine years that he hadn't known or even suspected... He might have surrendered to anger and shouted a few rash things about the demons side of the girls genetics. He might have done something regrettable.

Another little girl flashed across his memory. Kuririn had been told about her, as well, but the actual sight had still been a shock. Nothing like seeing the nine year old girl without the nose and with the massive attitude but yea... It wasn't every day, that you saw a triclops. Not even when you already KNEW a triclops.

This spurred another and thankfully more cheery web of thought. Kuririn grinned at all the paper in the room. He'd been training and fighting, on and off, for more than half his life now. He'd recieved a power boost on planet Namek and had gotten another slight boost, once reincarnated. Kuririn felt that he hadn't been able to do much - although he HAD managed to keep both Vegeta AND Freezia from gathering the full set of dragonballs for about a week on that alien world, before Gokus arrival - in battles recently. But all these new attacks that he was literally sitting on... And he hadn't hit his physical limit on power yet. Kuririn doubted that he was even getting close. That knowledge hung in the back of his awareness and always kind of surprised him.

"You didn't see what Tenshinhan was working on in the afterlife, did you?" Kuririn spoke with an unusual confidence that seemed to add 'because it sure as heck won't matter, if he crosses me now.'

Yamucha was using a stack of paper as a footrest. He indicated it. "Most of what I saw is there. The perfections of Piccolos attacks. A couple of variations." The bandit hesitated, his voice tinged with caution. "He'll know the Scatter Bomb."

Kuririn continued grinning. He waved the papers in his hand. "Yea. But he doesn't know this version."

"No. But you said he'd taken the folder about Freezias attacks..."

Kuririn sighed, swore and returned to scribbling intently for a few moments. It wasn't fair! He trained hard and had gotten powerups but when did he ever get the opportunity to use them? What good had he ever done anyone?

There was a gunshot. Inside the castle. It echoed. There was an energy. It felt wrong.

Before the gunshot even had the chance to finish echoing, Kuririn was down the hall. Peering into the kitchen. The terrible scene before him seemed to unravel in slow motion. Lunch stood there, angry expression and blond hair. She'd been baking something. She still had an apron on. The counter in front of her was covered in flour. She must have dropped it and sneezed and... She was holding a large rifle. The barrel of the firearm smoked. And... Standing across from her, at close range, was Kami.

"I'll take that as a 'no'." Waivered the Guardian of Earth. He stood, despite his obvious injuries, with his hands folded behind his back. He glanced towards the hallway and spoke as if he couldn't possibly have just been shot. The dark purple blood trickling down his white robes. "Ah. Hullo there, my student. Do you have a moment? There is something I've been meaning to ask you..."

Then Kami paled, pitched forward and fell. Kuririn barely had the presence of mind to catch him.

A blur of light disarmed Lunch. "Are you INSANE?" Yamucha held the rifle now and seemed half tempted to use it. He retracted his remark for editing. "Excuse me, forgot who I was talking to. OF COURSE YOU'RE INSANE."

Lunch didn't even flinch. She reached up and another weapon instantly materialized in her hand. Kuririn threw a shield around Kami when he saw it. Yamucha took a step in the other direction and swung the blunt end of the rifle towards a pretty blond head.

She used her own gun to block. Doing so threw her backwards, because she couldn't match the warriors power. And the motion of going backwards stirred some dust - or rather, flour - from her apron. She sniffed. "You think I only know how to use one end of a..." She began to snarl. There was flour on the counter as well, where she'd dropped it. She threw a handful of the flour at the bandits face. And then she sneezed.

"Oh my goodness! That poor creature has been shot!" Lunch yelped, with wide eyes and blue hair.

And then she sneezed.

"ARGH! DIE!" Blond hair. Gunfire.

And then she sneezed.

"Goodness, will he be okay? What kind of creature is that? You know, the kitchen is not the best place to tend to the wounded." She sniffled, delaying the inevitable and made a face. "Unless... Is that something you hunted? Are you going to cook him for a meal?"

And then she sneezed.

"I have this strange feeling that I was going to ask you guys about something. But until I remember what: DIE!" More gunfire.

"Excuse me?" A tarnished axe larger than some vehicles parked itself above the kitchen counter. Ox King stood on the other end of the long handle. He gave the impression of someone who could do amazingly detailed work with such an immense weapon. Between the giants stern expression and his authoritative stance, even the swirling dust motes and flour particles decided that it was time to settle down. "No guns in my castle."

Reeling with the incredible stupidity of what had taken mere seconds to unfold, Kuririn finally found his voice. "How did you even manage to COME here?!" He screamed.

Behind him - and mostly behind Ox King - in the hall, Oolong and Roshi took note of Kamis present condition and began to gently drag the guardian away.

Lunch still had blond hair but she gave the screamed question some serious thought. Then she straightened up and held a clenched fist over her heart, as if to salute some unseen general. "Love." She nodded, once.

They stared at her with blank expressions for several moments.

"Lunch!" Kuririn had lived with her at the Kame House, back when she'd been a maid for Roshi. He knew that the condition was difficult for her and tried to calm down but was hard pressed not to sound exasperated. He'd never seen such a bad outbreak of her disorder. He remained in a defensive stance, not sure how many of the people in the hallway behind him were bulletproof. "You may have just killed god! You have also shot at us! And accused us of wanting to eat god!"

"That's gross." Lunch remarked, not moving from her salute.

"YES." Kuririn agreed, taking comfort in the fact that Kamis energy had stabilized. "Why aren't you on medication or something?!"

Lunch spent a moment looking at her gun as if expecting to see an answer scribbled there. Eventually she hazarded. "They don't got a cure for what I got?"

"Hangon..." Yamucha was covered by an energy shield but also covered in flour. He was trying not to move so as to avoid triggering another sneezing fit. "What do you mean, love? You came here because of... Love?"

Lunch gave this the extended consideration that it was due. "I dunno." She finally said. "I think so. I kinda remember that somebody told me that I should come here to meet someone I'd like..."

Another uncomfortable blank silence.

"The triclops." Ox King eventually prompted. But he was talking about the little girl. "My daughter thought that you were the..."

It was not possible for Lunch to be blond and have heart-shaped eyes. Her personalities were just that different. So she sneezed, tossed aside her gun and clasped her hands together in wistful delight. In her scattered memory, there was only room for one triclops. "That's right! Ten-san! Where is he?"

They stared at her with blank expressions for another several moments, while a faint halo of small hearts floated around her head. Then... The bandit started grinning. And the monk barely had to catch sight of that expression to understand the sort of mischief that might be taking shape in his friends head. Still. Kuririn wanted to check.

"What are you thinking?"

Yamucha came to his friends side and lowered his voice. "Monks can forgive people, right?"

"Uhm. Are you going to need forgiveness?" Kuririn regarded his peer with concern.

"Probably."

**ooxoo**

**T**his was all wrong. It just... Had to be. People who did you harm were supposed to be noisy and full of insults. They were supposed to be hitting you and teasing you and...

Gohan was laying on the ground. The children were crouched around him. They were quiet. There had been some screaming earlier but that hadn't lasted long and hadn't seemed directed at him, either.

The children were cringing and turning away and giving every indication that they would really rather not be doing what they were, in fact, doing. They were holding him down but very gently. He wasn't being crushed or anything. They weren't even trying. Occasionally someone held his hand or squeezed his shoulder, in a reassuring sort of way. Instead of being made to feel helpless, he felt almost appreciated. It was strange. He could stare at the cuts on his arm and not even be upset. It didn't hurt. He'd seen and felt worse, much worse, in the past. He wasn't bleeding profusely. He doubted that he would die. The children around him were being very careful. They even washed their hands a lot.

The way the kids were leaning on him, to hold him down... It was almost like being wrapped in a warm blanket. Gohan yawned and relaxed. His ears had become so accustomed to a certain noise that it took a long drowsy moment for him to notice its absence.

He wasn't laughing anymore.

He was too exhausted to celebrate this. If Gohan closed his eyes, he could almost pretend that he was being held by his mother.

There was a delicate noise in the distance. The purr of an aircar. It barely seemed worth noticing.

And then the children around him all went very still.

The voice that spoke next was blunt and tired. "Believe it or not, the gods have a message for you."

Gohan blinked. That voice was familiar. And it belonged to an adult. One that he'd met before. One that he'd seen kind of recently. He forced his eyes open and took in a blurry landscape of ground and feet and...sword...?

The gods were _definitely _testing him.

At times like this Yajirobe really and sincerely wished that he was not the divine messenger. Delivering a rare non-cryptic message was almost worse than trying to explain the more frequent cryptic stuff. And these were only kids, even if they did appear to be on the brink of taking up cannibalism or something. But perhaps because they were kids, Korin had chosen to be blunt. And Yajirobe was a samurai, the personification of loyalty. Well. On good days, anyway. That was just part of the samurai training, though. You served a master. You followed orders. You defended honor. You didn't always understand it. You didn't always like it or agree with it. You just did it. If you couldn't trust in honor, if you couldn't be loyal... Then you weren't a samurai anymore. And, in more than few places and minds, if you weren't a samurai then you weren't anything.

"You want to get stronger? You want to get tougher? Fine. Get in the aircar. That's the message."

But the message was delivered with a sword attached. The kids stared at the weapon. Then, as a group, they stared at the aircar. Their message was an invitation but it sounded like an order. They weren't used to taking orders. Especially not orders from adults, not anymore. They stared at him, now. Were they frightened? Or more embarrassed? Or maybe even ashamed? It was hard to be certain.

There were twenty or so kids. They went into a huddle and had a whispered conference. They had a lot of stubborness, a lot of spirit. That was admirable. Korin had been keeping track of this group and would have let them walk all the way to the tower but the plan had changed. They were only kids... But what difference did that make, really? Kids were just adults in training. If you didn't treat them like adults at some point then when would they learn how to behave? That was the idea in most samurai households. Yajirobe knew. He'd been an adult for virtually his whole life.

"You want to be heros or what?" He growled.

Only three children in the group had enough energy to concern Yajirobe. And two of those were currently on the ground.

Yajirobe had been given rather explict instructions. He waited until the group had started shuffling towards the aircar and then casually but carefully placed a weighted boot across a small foot. "Not you." Yajirobe nodded towards the ground. "And leave him."

This started some protests. But he silenced them by leaning on his sword in a threatening way.

The rest, including a tallish girl with pointy ears who had to be carried by her peers, got into the aircar. A blur of movement and suddenly Korin was there, in the drivers seat. The cat grinned, smug as ever, and nodded. The children barely had a chance to register the immortal or voice their surprise. The aircar vanished.

"What was THAT?" Said the small child whose foot he was standing on. She had three eyes.

He gave her a good look at her own reflection in the length of the blade. "Run away." Yajirobe intoned, stepping off her foot. "Fly away, if you want. Any direction. Doesn't matter. They'll find you eventually."

Without turning - because she could also see his reflection in the blade, standing behind her and looking as serious as anything - she just stared. As if nothing more insulting could have ever been said to her.

"Go on." Yajirobe shooed her with the sword.

On some level the sword got itself across. What adults tried to rationalize as just a plain katana... The kids seemed to understand that it wasn't. Ranshin bit her lip, scowled at him, kicked into the air and was gone. A pale green light in the sky, fading to the north.

Yajirobe exhaled, put the sword away and sat down on the ground. "Girls are mean, huh?" His tone made it clear that, under the circumstances, this seemed a huge understatement.

Gohan winced but started laughing.

"Sorry." Yajirobe finished wrapping a bandage around the boys wrist. Yajirobe hesitated, braced himself and picked the kid up. Korin had informed the samurai of this. You had to pick up the most dangerous creature on the planet in order to remind him of his mother and make him calm down. "Better?"

Gohan promptly fell asleep.

"...You and your father, I swear." Yajirobe muttered but without any malice. He'd had to carry Goku before. Twice and all the way up the tower, while the young hero of the Earth took a nap on his shoulder and had about destroyed his already-operated-on back. This was not an entirely great memory for the samurai, the muscles of his back still protested it. But at least the world had been saved. You could count on Goku for that much. What was a free ride, once in a while, in exchange for that?

_Oh well._ Yajirobe squared his shoulders and supposed it was part of his ongoing training. He missed the aircar but would make do without it. He remembered the directions Korin had given him and started to walk. At least he wouldn't need to take this kid as far. At least Gohan wasn't wearing the weighted clothes, as his father had done. It was difficult enough without that. The samurai had his own weights to wear.

**ooxoo**

**"H**ullo nephew."

Snarl.

Kami closed his eyes. His friends and students had placed him, out of respect, in the most comfortable reclining chair that the castle could offer. They had also, upon his request, placed him by a certain cot.

In the middle of the room, there was a lot of talk along the lines of: "Well of course you have a daughter, Lunch..." Roshi, Oolong and Ox King were gathered around, exhibiting different degrees of approval. Kuririn sat apart from the conversation, back among his papers. He didn't like the bandits lie but also understood the power of letting Lunch believe that it was true. Because if Lunch believed this lie then a specific someone, whether or not he cared for the idea, was going to have fatherhood thrown - and possibly also shot - at him. And that, in all honesty, might be a fairly wise move for the other defenders of the planet to initiate.

Kami stretched as much as all the bandages would allow. He wasn't feeling awful, in spite of everything. He wasn't feeling great by any means but... Kami sort of liked the drama on Earth. All the intricate things that people could come up with. It never ceased to amaze him. Really, life on Earth was his favorite soap opera. He'd been watching it for three hundred years.

And his poor nephew had been an absolute sitcom lately. A comedy of errors.

"We do have to let some things happen, you know..."

Growl.

Kami managed a weak smile. He was bulletproof, most of the time. Not at close range. He tended to teleport rather than let that happen. But there were exceptions to every rule. And the bullet had gone through him so... As soon as he found the strength... He would be able to regenerate and heal. Kami spent a while listening to the discussions beyond and privately vowing to get more comfortable furniture up to the Lookout someday.

"My getting shot may have disarmed the trap inside you, by the way."

Silence.

There was a garbled telepathic threat. It was full of anger but made some valid points. Kami had stepped - teleported - into the path of a bullet. He had let the thing hit. What if it had killed them both? Had he or had he not been having mysterious visions of his own death recently? What, in the names of heaven and hell...

_My students wouldn't let me die. _Was the automatic response. Kami held it up like a shield but quickly realized that it was a shield full of holes. Yes, he had taken a bit of a risk there. Hrm. Why hadn't he thought of it as a risk, before? He'd died before...

There was another garbled telepathic communication from his nephew. It had more threats than points.

"Very clever design really, that trap. I'll have to remember to speak to Bulma about it." Kami said, he'd decided to change the subject. He massaged his temples. There was something else that he'd wanted to say. Another reason that he'd come to the castle. Something important. What was it?

In the middle of the room, Lunch had dark blue hair. She wasn't sneezing. But her brain had been presented with an idea that required both of her and so even without the visible transformation, two separate trains of thought were flowing from her lips. Tears flowed from her eyes. "I COULDN'T have... I wouldn't FORGET..." But there was a tremor of doubt to that line. And a tremor of pleading in the other one. "I... am a mother?"

Yamucha didn't even have to try to convince her anymore. His heart wasn't in it, anyway. Then again, why feel terrible? It was a lie right now but why couldn't it become true? There WAS a little triclops out there somewhere, possibly in need of some parental supervision. All they had to do was catch the kid again. And the kid had a detectable level of energy, so that shouldn't be too hard. And hey, Lunch would be good at motherhood. Being a parent might even be good for her. Lunch had been more than a maid to the Kame House. She had been there to fuss over the warriors, bandage them up and listen to their exaggerated stories. She had encouraged them more often than Roshi and had kept them all on their toes. Lunch was the main reason that any of the students had bothered to become bulletproof. She was at least one of the main reasons that a house full of men in training had bothered with hygiene. Her outbreaks hadn't seemed so bad, back then. Maybe all that she needed was to be around other people on a regular basis.

"You," Said the bandit truthfully, he was already looking for the kids energy signature, "are a great mother."

The sincerity of this remark earned a few stares. Including one from Kami. Who could also see Kuririn, from where he was reclining. And Kami was suddenly reminded that he'd started to ask a very specific and important question, before fainting. "Did you ever say whether you wanted to be the next guardian?"

Now the stares were several hundred times more bewildered and on him.

Kami cringed. Oh heavens. He'd asked it aloud. This was going to be eternally binding, then.

Oolong put a hand to the back of his neck and made the mistake of breaking the silence. "Sure." The pig intoned with his usual sarcasm but it was the words, not the tone, that were going to doom him. "Why not?"

**ooxoo**


	28. Loop: November 23rd, 763 AD

_**Eclipse**_

**by DoraMouse**

**ooxoo**

**Loop: November 23rd, 763 A.D.**

**H**ere's a story caught in a loop. Here's a story falling apart and coming together in new ways.

Once upon a time, every wealthly family on Earth had employed its own private army. Wars between clans had been frequent - almost a daily affair. And then, just over two hundred years ago, several of the more powerful clans had united and made notoriously short work of their opposition. After some quick but bloody internal conflicts were settled, a surviving warlord had declared himself the World Emperor. His allies had become the World Government and their clans formed the bulk of the Imperial Army. The few surviving enemies had almost immediately banded together to become a rebel organization known as the Red Ribbon Army.

And then, things got bad.

Red Ribbon had stopped being an army and started being a business. A mostly illegal business. They had still called themselves an Army, at that time. And they maintained the soldiers, to protect their business. And the business grew, it covered the globe and took many guises. But product development can require some inventive research.

The early androids had been the result of young scientists showing off. Practically a dare. A nudge of: "Yea, well I bet you can't do this..." between the sorts of people who tended to speak fluent Math around strangers. That was all.

Built back in 733 A.D. Android 1 had been a relatively simple design - affectionately described as a vacuum cleaner on tank treads - that could be programmed to do a few minor industrial chores. Technically, Android 1 hadn't even been an android. It had been a domestic robot. The builders were aware of this. But they were also the sort of people who might have named their dogs Kitty, just to be obnoxious. These students had considered themselves the New Minds of Science and had loved to make a statement, as it were, without actually ever saying much. They had calculated the wind chill of the labs and had worn long sleeved coats on bright spring days. Yes, every little thing these young people had done proudly declared them as intellectual rebels.

733A.D... Thirty years ago... Dr. Gero had been a younger man, still in college. He'd known mostly about geology. College was expensive though and few employers were willing to work around a students class schedule. Jobs had been hard to find. Honestly, he wouldn't have found this one on his own. His classmates had gathered to study in the dorm one evening and had made a few complaints about the science labs of the university not being very well equipped. How could they test out all their ideas, with such restrictions? Ah, his friends. What scholars. They were all so obssessed with just the ideals back then... The fact that the college was hard up for cash and could not afford to fund every experiment had not seemed a rational excuse, to these students. It hurt their pride to be passed over. It hurt their professional chances of doing well in the future, as well. Many of his peers had lashed out and had gone underground. Literally. Dr. Gero had gone with them, just tagging along out of curiousity. He could still remember that first day, when he'd seen the facility... Red Ribbon had existed as a business even back then and the scale of their labs had made the space at the college seem a poor joke by comparison. Yes. It WAS Red Ribbon, the historically infamous band of criminals but how could anything so wonderful as the pursuit of truth and knowledge and dreams be illegal?

Building domestic robots was a break from the real work. Something for the competitive lab partners to tinker with and argue about while patiently waiting for the results of their other experiments. Android 1 had been built in a rush and had fallen apart within a month. They'd grinned and challenged each other to build something better. Another little race, tucked neatly between the real experiments, had begun. It was strange to think about, now. Dr. Gero couldn't even remember what sorts of products they had been developing for Red Ribbon at the time. All he could remember was the forming of teams in the lab, the smirking and hammering and clinking of the mechanical race between intelligent peers. The ritual stealing and sabotaging of parts. The endless but stimulating arguments. The ideas. The complexity of the project growing as the teams tried to outdo each other. Their playful bickering had infected every corner of the whole facility, eventually. Everyone had chosen a side.

It was through such spontaneous competitions that they'd built Androids 2, 3 and 4. Who also, really, hadn't been androids. One of the more literal-minded young scientists had commented on the irony of this situation. "Why do we call them that? It's not funny anymore. If we're going to keep calling them that then we ought to build an actual android." Thus the new challenge had begun.

Android 5 had mostly been a domestic robot. The proud construction team had hailed him as the first true android, anyway. He was, at least, semi-android. The shift in engineering had begun. So many new techniques and processes had been used.

That had been Dr. Geros own doing. He had been through his harrowing traffic accident by then. He'd lost his legs. Been confined to a wheelchair. Had turned to his trusted friends for help. The old man smiled at the thought of it. Android 5 was still his favorite invention, to date. They'd done the tests for artificial limbs with 5. Dr. Gero hadn't been about to trust his own life to something that he couldn't test first. You wouldn't just invent something and attach the first version of that invention to yourself, where your legs used to be and then try to stand up. That wasn't logical. What if the invention didn't work? So yes, 5 had been given a limited voice and the ability to respond to some voice commands but it was the legs that had been Dr. Geros main concern. With a level of passion that might be expected from anyone who knew that the results could free them from being bound to a wheelchair for the rest of their life, he had attacked the project.

And he could now stand, on a set of perfect artificial limbs, because of it. And once you've had success like that, why stop? There was so much potential, in the use of artificial limbs...

Red Ribbon had chosen that moment to recognize _his _potential. He'd been promoted. Dr. Gero had been put in charge of the business and research side of the most dangerous criminal organization on Earth.

Twenty or so years ago, there had been not one but two commanders. The infamous Commander Red - the natural heir of an ancient clan, as his name would indicate - had come into power. Red was a full grown adult man who had only been at knee-cap height around most of his suboridinates. For some inexplicable reason, all of Reds most trusted assistants were exceptionally tall people. This was a fact that had grated on Reds pride. So when Red had taken control of the massive rebel army, his first commands had involved terrorizing everyone that had ever picked on him - an act that, by itself, had greatly reduced the armies power. Red had killed all the soldiers that had ever dared to look down their nose at him and given the height difference... That was not a small percentage. The military might and fearsome reputation of the Red Ribbon Army had gone downhill from there. Things had deteroriated to the point to where Commander Red had proceeded to convince his entire staff to adopt color-coded names. Red had even given an order that they ought to be searching the world for a set of magical artifacts that nobody was sure really existed. He had promised them that Red Ribbon would become invincible and rule the world but his true agenda had been revealed to be far more simple: his sole ambition had been to become tall.

Read that again: Commander Red was a short man who just wanted to be taller.

No, really. Read that again. Think about it.

Dr. Gero could still not get over the... There weren't even WORDS that could begin to do justice to... But he'd thought some, anyway. Especially when first given the news. And his thoughts, if they had been heavily censored, might have gone something like this: _You complete and utter moron, Red! You total and relentless FOOL. I am right over here working FOR THE SAME ORGANIZATION and my most famous invention is THE ARTIFICIAL LIMB. Why did you ever need to go looking for any stupid magical artifacts? __**I could have made you taller!**_

The unedited version of those thoughts could have turned into a novel. It would not have been a bestseller.

Really, the sheer ignorance of the whole scenario had just appalled him. In retrospect it was not a surprise to Gero that it had only taken one child - an abnormal child but STILL a child - one day to defeat the farce that Red had allowed the Army to become.

Dr. Gero had not mourned the lost of his military colleagues, those thirteen years ago. He had wanted to give them a good solid kicking with an equally solid artificial foot. The idiots!

On the plus side, Reds appalling lack of brainpower and consequent death had allowed Dr. Gero to be appointed as the sole Commander of the largest criminal organization in the world. And the disaster had allowed a few surviving Red Ribbon soldiers to emerge from the ruins of the military headquarters, announcing in traumatized voices that they needed a weapon better than bombs. Smarter than bullets. Able to tell the difference between friend and foe.

By then, Android 8 - the first to demonstrate true sentience - had declared himself to be too good for his makers. He had refused to obey orders and had left during the battles. There were even rumors that 8 had helped the enemy. Not wishing to risk further betrayal, Androids 6 and 7 had been deactivated and scrapped on that very same day. Dr. Gero had seen to it himself. Android 9 had already been under construction. That construction had been suspended for a while. After much debate and several changes to his original programming, 9 was completed. He was the first to have an internal bomb.

Progress had been slow. In part because of further debates. There were just so many variables involved and the process was always changing. The Red Ribbon scientists were constantly rehashing the details. They weren't just building lab assistants anymore. They were building weapons. The genetic children and prototype android testing system had all been created during this time, to ensure that only the best weapons got through.

Android 10. The first weapon.

No, that was a lie. The first weapon hadn't actually been an android. Somewhere between finishing 9 and starting 10... The Crane Master had come to them, carrying the remains of his little brother. A deal had been struck. A barter of talents more than an exchange of money. The Crane Master had joined their ranks. Red Ribbon had worked with a near-corpse for the first time. They'd worked with some actual corpses by then - 7, 8 and 9 - but not a near-corpse. Tao Pai Pai had become a cyborg and had been alert for most of the operations. It had been a new experience for the scientists, as well.

10 had been completed. He'd been the first android to kill his genetic opponent, a feat that only the cyborg had accomplished before. But now 10 had supposively been detonated and destroyed. Red Ribbon only had reports of this. They hadn't found his remains.

Androids 11 and 12. A young male and female. The first androids to not _look like_ androids. They had passed as humans, in appearance. Had blended in. Their main purpose had been to gather data. Both had functioned acceptably. They had been given some weapons and had passed the fight tests but were programmed more for obedience than for fighting. 11 had been detonated, Red Ribbon had seen the evidence. 12... Their first female android, 12. Had she been destroyed when the underground labs were blown up? That was the assumption. No one had seen her in a while. It was a shame. She had done well, had gathered some good information. She had brought them all sorts of useful trivia taken from Capsule Corporation. Including the blueprints for something called a gravity room.

_That Dr. Briefs..._ Dr. Gero hated to admit it but he felt something like admiration. _If only he were on our side..._

And for no particular reason at all, the thought stuck.

It wasn't logical. It was risky. Capsule Corp was a power unto itself. The wealth and influence that company wielded... There would be consequences, for angering them. And you couldn't expect a kidnapped person to help you out with highly illegal projects. Unless, somehow, Dr. Briefs could be tricked into helping them without realizing... No. It was nonsense. The man was a genius. He would catch on. He'd report them. Even if he didn't report them, he'd learn. You couldn't show a man like that how to build an android and then expect him to go home and forget. He would use the knowledge for something else. They'd just be empowering him. Unless they killed him. But he wasn't going to work on anything, if he figured out that he was dead anyway.

Not to mention that the World Government would be upset if anyone raised a finger to Capsule Corp. Because Capsule Corp had more authority than the Government did, in more than few places. Dr. Briefs was so popular, he was beloved. A cultural icon. They'd lose the trust of the general public if they went against him. And Red Ribbon needed the trust of the general public. Because they needed the money of the World Government. And they needed the money because they'd made a deal... A year ago - already a year! - the hostile aliens had landed. Earths Special Forces had died, for the most part. The warriors were alive again now but they had died, you couldn't forget that. They had failed. The world may have been saved overall but the damage had been done. The warriors had shown that they were incapable of defending the planet. So Red Ribbon had promised to build an android that could.

And they just had to get it done now because winning was the only way to save face. The only way to beat the World Government at their own game. Red Ribbon could not afford to lose. Dr. Gero was determined that they wouldn't. Not under his leadership.

They'd had four new androids under construction, before the Red Ribbon underground labs had exploded. Android 13 should have been the first to fly. Android 14, the remains of their infamous cyborg waiting to be reconstructed. Android 15...

_So much potential. Such a waste._ Dr. Gero frowned. He didn't like waste.

Only one android case had been salvaged from the ruins. It had been a damaged corpse to begin with, huge and strange to see. The explosion of the labs had not improved matters. But building the cyborg had taught them a lot. And building the genetic children had taught them a lot. And Red Ribbon already had a live volunteer, to help speed the process of this construction. A new location, a new lab coming together. New scientists being trained. New ideas taking shape. The excitement was tangible. The work was beginning again.

Android 16.

_What will you be?_ Dr. Gero wondered, scrutinizing the sketches. _The first android to fly? A weapon better than 10? Will you betray us, like 8 did?_

The sketches were a rough draft. They were covered in notes and formulas. Red Ribbon scientists had proposed many changes. They always did. Every finished project taught them something and inspired improvements. The only note on this sketch that was circled and underlined and highlighted though... Was about the armor. The inside of a gravity room, according to the stolen bluepint, was made from a material that could withstand pressures of four hundred times the Earths own gravity. If Red Ribbon could build android armor out of that...

So. Dr. Briefs had helped them, then. In his own way. Without knowing.

Although... Dr. Briefs had challenged them, as well. Again, without knowing. Dr. Gero turned a page. A steely glint of resolve in his eyes as he followed the flow of ideas. Several of the notes and sketches on the next page were also highlighted and underlined. Some were written in all capital letters. Because if Red Ribbon was going to build an android with such drastically improved armor... Then, in order to secure the loyalty of their mechanical servant, they were also going to have to build an android whose internal bomb was... Nuclear. Atomic. Hydrogen. Maybe all of the above. And then some.

**ooxoo**

**H**ere's a story caught in a loop. It twists and bends and shows you a new side.

The happiness of a bright young geologist, ended abruptly in a traffic accident. The path of a wheelchair to artificial legs. The dream of a future...

A future without pain, disease or aging. A future without violence. No crime, no traffic accidents. No waste. Everyone gets to be healthy and beautiful. Everyone gets to be educated. What a lovely place. It was achievable. It was sustainable. Why should artificial limbs only be available to people who had lost their natural set? Artificial limbs were so much better! Perfection!

Perfection... Maybe such a dream was more than humanity deserved. Or maybe it was EXACTLY what humanity deserved.

To replace the organic with the artificial... To throw in a bit of programming at no extra cost... Perhaps that was not enough. Perhaps the true definition of perfect did not need to include humanity at all. Humans could be such idiots. They caused nothing but trouble and suffering, to each other and to everything around them! Humans had failed him and shunned him and sued him. Humans were the cause of that traffic accident, so long ago. Humans had chopped off his crushed legs. Humans had told him to be content with the wheelchair. Dr. Gero had proven them all wrong, had invented his way into a profitable position and respected, if illegal, career. But... How could he forgive such things?

Humans were the source of all doubt. In a perfect future there was no place for doubt. No need for doubt. Doubt was a main ingredient in greed and fear and injustice. A perfect future could not, therefore, have doubt.

Doubt was not logical.

This idea had not come easily. Dr. Gero still resisted it. He was human, mostly. Why bother to create a perfect future that didn't include himself? Why linger on the idea of a non-humanoid android? 10 had been less humanoid than average. A bit of an experiment, there. Dr. Gero hadn't approved of that but he'd let his people work on it anyway. He'd expected 10 to be a total failure. But... 10 had done well, for a while. Was that how perfection should look? A strange metallic thing? A humanish-kangaroo crossed with a military jet?

A weapon?

In a world with no violence, in a world with no doubt... What good was a weapon? Should there even be weapons, in a perfect world? No. No. That didn't make any sense. Yet Red Ribbon was building weapons. They were giving people artificial limbs, better and better all the time, that included weapons. What had happened to the dream? Where was this vision going?

Maybe the weapon... Had a different place. Not as _part _of the perfect world but as a means of _creating_ the perfect world... The weapon could provide a way to get rid of all the undesirables...

A year ago... The pair of hostile aliens... But the warriors, the best and strongest warriors on the Earth, had shown that they were incapable of defending the world. So... Red Ribbon had promised to build an android that could defend the Earth. Which meant... The android that Red Ribbon built... Had to be stronger than the warriors who had failed. Had to be stronger than the alien who had escaped. And that was just to _defend_ the Earth. If, instead, they truly wanted to _conquer_ the Earth... They would have to build an android stronger than the Imperial Army. Stronger than any weapon that Capsule Corp might invent. Stronger than any escaped genetic child.

They would have to build an android stronger than all of humanity, including those parts of humanity who now had one or two artificial limbs.

How to achieve such power?

It must be understood. It must be appreciated. The gap in understanding was immense. The name Freezia and the word Icejin did not exist to Red Ribbon. They had never heard of the evil monster or his species. They were aware of the existence of Nameks - since there had been around sixty of them stranded on Earth for a time and also because of the memorable history that Daimio and his son had left the world with - but not of the actual word 'Namek'. Nameks were called demons.

Goku was 'that annoying brat who destroyed the old military headquarters'.

Red Ribbon had no real clue of anything beyond that. Most of their information about the warriors of Earth had come from conducting interviews at previous Tenkaichi Budoukais. Their agents had interviewed all of the eliminated warriors, all the defeated opponents - at least the ones that had been able to catch their breaths and who hadn't run away or needed immediate medical care. Red Ribbon had also taken notes during the Crane Masters rants. They'd done some research and studying, learning what they could of each warrior. Androids 11 and 12 had been created as tools to improve that research. And the data gathered on the adult triclops, during his short capture and tracked release, had taught Red Ribbon a lot. But... Red Ribbon did not have agents in outer space. And they regarded Gohans television debut as evidence that maybe someone else had built a genetic child, they suspected Capsule Corp. As for the invading aliens...

Tenshinhan was not the only elite warrior to have ever been captured by Red Ribbon. He was only the most recent.

To the majority of Red Ribbon, Vegeta was just an alien who had left some craters on their world about a year ago and they weren't sure why. To a very select few scientists working under Dr. Gero, Vegeta existed as 'folder 571' and collecting the file of samples had been easy.

Aside from being arrogant to a fault and short-tempered to begin with, Vegeta had been deeply confused. Being reincarnated for the first time ever, for no apparent reason by near-complete strangers on a populated planet that is way more tranquil than any sane warrior could handle... Vegeta had not adapted well to these kinds of shocks. He'd resented the act of mercy because it didn't settle well with his pride that he had needed an act of mercy in the first place. He had felt the need to deal with all of this by picking fights and had spent the majority of his time stranded on Earth doing just that. Red Ribbon truly did not understand the angst. However they did understand the power of distant unnatural explosions. It hadn't taken a rocket scientist - just a few brave forensic biologists - to follow the trails of blood. Hence, the gathered samples. And the warriors moved so fast that by the time the scientists arrived at a new crater, the fighters were long gone. And that was fine by the scientists because it made collecting the samples a less dangerous job. They had avoided the warriors notice, most of the time.

There had only been once, months ago, that they'd found him unconscious...

Vegeta had, according to the annotated reports: woken up too soon, mumbled something about a regeneration tank(sorry boss, we don't know what that is), gone very quiet, realized that the half-open android case where they'd been storing him was NOT a regeneration tank, twitched, screamed, blown up the entire convoy of armored vehicles that had been delegated to transport the android case(like they were nothing, boss!), smirked, made some witty(I didn't think it was witty...) remarks about the flaming wreckage, smacked a few dazed survivors off a cliff, leveled the cliff, taunted whatever pathetic(his words, not ours...) cowering lifeforms were still in the area and then escaped via casually flying away. (Good riddence. Uhm. Unless you want us to go after him, boss?)

Thus the words Saiyan and Super Saiyan did not appear in any of their vocabularies, down at Red Ribbon. But they did have a rough idea of the concept. And more importantly, they had samples.

It must be understood. To build an android stronger than any of these things - stronger than Nameks or Saiyans or Icejins - those concepts were not written on the android blueprints. Because essentially, Red Ribbon didn't know what these things were. All they knew was that the androids might need to be stronger than anything they'd ever imagined. And they had begun to imagine Android 16, who was barely under construction but already pushing the limits of science.

Sometimes the most alien of things can be built without any knowledge of actual aliens. What does that say about the builders?

And how to achieve such power?

They had new genetic samples but would those be enough? They had plans for better armor and explosives but would those be enough? They had the lessons of thirty years and countless experiments...

Dr. Gero had been dedicated to his profession for more than thirty years. His visions of a perfect future... Had changed and grown and bubbled in his mind. He wasn't sure anymore, of the path to this future. Would he need to kill the whole of humanity to get a glimpse of the perfect world? Was it something that he could force or trick humanity in to becoming a part of? He didn't feel very patient, anymore. He wanted to see the paradise before him. He wanted to retire there. He knew that his perfect future could happen. How to make it so? How to speed things up?

**ooxoo**

**H**ere's a story caught in a loop...

The madness spins and stretches the universe. The string gets distorted and falls back in on itself. Or maybe it falls apart and is replaced by something different. Sometimes, it can be hard to know.

Math. The art of using numbers to paint a picture that almost nobody else can see but everyone can read. Every situation exists, somewhere. We just don't always know where. Everything happens for a reason, we just don't always know why. Every problem has more than one possible answer, when you get to a certain point. We just don't always know when.

But we can try to make educated guesses, sometimes.

The math of life translates well into a story problem. It leans on philosophy, hangs out with science and flirts with magic. A tiny butterfly flutters its wings. Does it cause the hurricane? Count the ways, list the answers. An infant boy crashing to an alien world in a spacepod - does he become a hero among the natives? Stranger things have happened. What are the odds? Place your bets.

If a monsterous tyrant in your galaxy starts with hundreds of planets in his collection... And then you fight with himin order to try and take away just one planet... But while doing so you upset your wife, lose a best friend, traumatize at least six other friends, endure being bodyswapped with a complete stranger, witness at least seven deaths, bury a helpful rival and nearly kill an entire alien population... Oh and THEN you are left with under five minutes during which you alone need to convince three separate gods to gather fourteen dragonballs spread across two worlds in order to summon both eternal dragons for a couple of hurried wishes... It should have been four wishes in total but you're out of time, sorry. Even as a transformation that you never knew you were capable of more than triples your power and gives you a bad hair day... Then where does that leave you, exactly, when the planet that you were trying to defend blows up? Be detailed. Show your work. Need some extra credit? Estimate the cost of the counseling that your only child will now require. Because he was there for most it too. Use an extra form, if needed. Cite your sources. Attach receipts.

If a woman can sneeze and change her hair color then what can the gods do? What can the universe do? Speculate. Mark your answers clearly.

If a criminal organization works diligently for more than two hundred years without being able to reach their one goal of ruling a single world... If a brilliant but increasingly antisocial scientist invests more than thirty years of his life and both of his natural legs into creating sixteen androids, one of which might still exist and one of which is under construction... Plus one cyborg, beyond repair... Plus at least ten genetic children, only six of which had lived to escape... Plus hundreds of thousands of artificial limbs, sold to ordinary citizens... Then is the value of a dream inflated or deflated? Does a perfect future equal impossible or more possible, when effort is multipled? Can dedication alone bend the streams of time? Can a person who has made the most of their past pull their future into a loop?

The Earth had never truly been peaceful. Not this Earth nor any other Earth.

The future was a big place. Some of it was far away and uncertain. Some of it was closer and would happen soon. Some of it danced inbetween and got tangled. The parallel worlds turned at sharp angles, snaring each other.

An unlikely piece of cosmic unrest entered the atmosphere.

The machine was a blur engulfed in the light of high speeds. It fell across the sky in an wide arc, a barely audible roar trailing behind it. Somewhere, perhaps, there was a version of Earth where this would have been more widely noticed. An Earth minus the dark clouds that had fallen a bit more than one month ago. An Earth plus working radar and satelitte systems, perhaps. The machine slowed, dropping altitude. It became less blurry as the light enveloping it started to fade. There was a bubble of reinforced glass and a collection of sturdy landing gear. It looked like a mechanical squid, propelled across the sky by three large rockets and only big enough to contain one passenger.

It was in a loop. It fell out of a loop. It made a new loop.

It left ripples in Time.

The future became a murky riddle with multiple choice answers. The existence of Earth became even more of an unresolved equation than usual.

The machine thudded into a harsh landing. The glass bubble cracked on impact but held together. The craft bounced and came down, twice and then three times. It rolled to a stop. The rockets sparked then went silent. There was a plink of cooling metal. A hiss of releasing pressure. The landing gear trembled into place as if it were elderly and the machine, which had landed sideways, gradually righted itself. A hatch swung open with a creak. There was a creature, inside the machine. It was small and greenish with spots. It had a beak and a tail and claws. It tumbled out of the machine, weakened by the journey. Possibly even weakened before the journey. It crawled a short distance, squinting in the light. It burrowed into the ground.

It settled down to do some math. That always made it feel better.

_Android = do not need to sleep. However, damage = severe. Activating hibernation mode. Estimated time before repairs are complete = calculating. Question: what is repair priority? Hibernation mode = activated. Powering down. Internal power = stablized. Emergency damage control = activated. Repair priority = analyzing, please wait._

It did not need to have powered down. It had landed in some mountains. The mountains were a natural ki block. No one had detected it. A few creatures on Earth had noticed its arrival but none had detected it. And perhaps they wouldn't, for years.

_Resolved: more repairs = longer total hibernation time. Approval? Yes. Repairs = mission critical. Power down = complete. Analyzing repair priority. Stage one repairs: Vital Functions. Stage two: Armor. Stage three: Secondary Systems. Stage four: Weapons. Approval? Yes. Processing. Commencing repairs. Repairs in progress. Stage one, tier one of 4.6K: two percent complete... Energy conservation rate = Optimized. Question: run safety check? Yes. Checking. Safety prompt: Identity = Cell? Affirmative. Question: goal of reaching the past = accomplished? Calculating..._

**ooxoo**

**Authors Footnote: **I am aware that in the DBZ movies the androids 13, 14 and 15 do exist as completed warriors. This is fanfiction. With this story I'm trying to improve on the canon, make sense of it. If these last chapters seem rushed, I apologize but they were. Chapters 19 through 27 came to me - from rough draft to finished version - within the space of two weeks. This story is virtually writing itself. Sometimes, it's all I can do to keep up. Don't know if I'll get back to androids 13, 14 and 15. We'll see. When I get offline today, I will be working on chapters 30 through 32. I don't think the movie-only androids make it into any of those. Maybe this story doesn't need them.

**ooxoo**


	29. Ceremony: November 25th, 763 AD

_**Eclipse**_

**by DoraMouse**

**ooxoo**

**Ceremony: November 25th, 763 A.D.**

**O**olong was beside himself. Not literally but close. He squirmed. They were going to make him dress up.

Couldn't these people take a joke?

"You'll do a fine job, lad." Master Roshi stood nearby, putting the finishing touches on one of his patented Amazing Speeches. The old master seemed to have a knack for finding all the right words at all the wrong moments.

They were at the Lookout. Kami had brought them up, after recovering. Running away might have been a great option - if there hadn't been a sheer drop to from Earth orbit all the way down to Earth. Cold hard Earth. Oolong could shapeshift but he wasn't even sure that he would survive an attempt to fly away. He didn't like heights. And the Lookout had a magical field, he could feel it, so shapeshifting up here might not be wise. And even if he changed the way that he looked, they could still track his energy...

The old mans speech had started slowly but had made such an impression that it had gradually convinced everyone - except for Oolong himself - that he was indeed the right pig for the job.

Was he? No. They had to be kidding!

The Lookout had a palace. Oolong had lived in a mansion once but not a palace. The Lookout was peaceful and isolated. Like an island. Oolong had lived on an island before, it wasn't a bad life. He just didn't want to live on an island in the sky. He really didn't like heights. He liked heights less, every moment he was here. But it was true that shapeshifting skills might be incredibly useful, if you had to watch over the Earth without being noticed too much. And it would be a wicked opportunity, actually, to get away with all kinds of pranks...

Who was he kidding?!

_I am a simple and humble, if shapeshifting, pig. I do not want to be responsible for an entire planet and its population. The world has already been endangered... Since I've met Goku... More times than I care to remember. And I can't even remember one of those times because I was turned into a zombie, Kuririn says. It seems like all we talk about, anymore, is just how often the world has been saved._

"It's ridiculous!" Oolong complained, his thoughts carrying over to his vocal chords as he squirmed and tossed away a layer of formal robes. "This planet doesn't need a new guardian, it needs a new warranty!"

"The Guardian IS the warranty." Mister Popo intoned sagely. He was folding all the discarded clothes with care and trying to wrap his mind around the idea of having a new permanent resident at the Lookout. The Lookout had plenty of guests these days but it had been three hundred years since anyone had moved in. Mister Popo was polite, out of habit.

"It's a sign! I'm not meant to do this!" Oolong tried, pointing to all the shelves and hangers. "None of them fit me!"

The silence that followed was a room full of stares conveying the same idea in perfect unison because the solution was simply that obvious.

A faint vein appeared on the pigs forehead. "I am NOT changing shape to make them fit!"

"Well of course, it would not be any trouble to get some new custom robes made." Mister Popo had already made this offer earlier today. He felt slightly irritated by the scene that had followed. "If you would hold still for the measurements this time...?"

Oolongs whole posture said: not a chance.

"You are young." Mister Popo decided to use this as a blanket excuse, to pardon the pigs behavior since arriving. "In time, you will understand the honor that you have been chosen..."

"I'm twenty-four!" Oolong protested and was reminded of a few things. "And a pervert! And a coward! Everyone has said so!" Oolong felt mildly vindicated, to be using past comments against him as his current defense. He savored the feeling for a breath and then plowed on. "And I didn't choose this! I was only joking! The question... I didn't know he was being serious! Kami MUST have been speaking to someone else..."

His eyes locked on to the space where the top suspects should have been. But Yamucha had confided that there would not be any easy way that he could keep a straight face for the ceremony and besides, he was now on a mission to locate the little triclops girl and entrust that poor child to Lunch. And Kuririn... After recovering from a day of shocks and realizing, to a certain degree, what he'd so narrowly avoided and then going back into shock... Had eventually come along to watch. Kuririn had quietly teased the pig - 'look at you, never expected to see this' - even while offering serious advice for a while. Then Kuririn had then noticed something in the energy down on Earth and had swiftly departed.

"You know, I'm really trying to be proud of you over here." Master Roshi gave up on marveling his own amazing poetic speeches and went for the more direct route. "A housemate of mine, practically a student... Becoming a god..." He clapped a hand on the pigs shoulder and a thought occurred. "Gosh, I bet you'll meet all kinds of hot women."

Oolong was not usually embarrassed by such remarks and did his very best to steer away from the abyss of temptation. "That's a STUPID reason to become a god." He said but he and Master Roshi both spent a while thinking about it, anyway.

"If that..." Piccolo had healed, fully. Shortly after his uncle had done the same. He claimed not to care about the Earth and therefore had no fundamental objections to the process of swearing someone new in. They'd expected him to leave the Lookout but he hadn't. Whatever had caught Kuririns attention had escaped Piccolos concern. The energy below... It was possible that Piccolo had noticed but clear that he did not currently feel compelled to do anything about it. His increased caution was, he felt, reasonable. Trying to act on impulse had gotten him near-death, just lately. Instead Piccolo seemed curious about the process of retiring his uncle. "...becomes the Guardian..."

"Apprentice, first. We swear him in as a student." Mister Popos polite tone went a little icy around the green warrior. He remembered Daimio. Mister Popo was one of the very few creatures alive who had met Daimio, three hundred years ago and who had stood by to support his friend ever since. Kami had experienced a constant level of stress and pain for the entire duration of Daimios imprisonment. It was challenging, even for Mister Popo, to be nice to the direct descendant of someone who had - if only by means of spirit-bond - made his best friend miserable for a couple of centuries. "The job requires some training."

Piccolo noticed the icy tone and since he had inherited that spirit-bond, understood. Also, his uncle had telepathically explained it to him once. His uncle... "So... If that..."

Oolong came over. "Hi. I'm Oolong." He said flatly. "I would have introduced myself sooner but to be honest, I don't like you. However I also do not like being called 'that'. So knock it off." The half-dressed pig turned towards the brown elfin genie who was hovering nearby on a dark purple carpet. "Apprentice, did you say?"

Mister Popo was just psychic enough to feel anxious, suddenly, about the immediate future. "Yes."

"So... This training..." Oolong was starting to see a metaphorical light at the end of the tunnel and it might not even be an oncoming train, "Has anyone ever, you know, flunked it?"

"And if he passes it," Piccolo was determined not to be ignored, "and becomes the new Kami... Then what do we call...?"

Mister Popo ignored the first question and considered second one. "Your uncle would revert to his name. He is called Piccolo, as well."

"Daimio means demon, as I'm sure you are aware." Master Roshi added helpfully. He was only just now leaving the daydreams of what being a god might mean around women and was barely able to resist being drawn into the fantasies of what being a god might mean around goddesses. Sometimes, Roshi wondered if he'd been wise to turn down his chance. He could have been the local god... Although his sister would have probably killed him. No. Not probably. Definitely. She definitely would have killed him. She'd said so. _That's right._ Roshi coughed, adjusted his sunglasses and focused on the green warrior leaning against the wall. "Your father was the evil side of a creature named Piccolo, hence Piccolo Daimio. His description became his name. And you are the offspring of the demon so you have inherited that title. I suppose that we will all just start calling you Junior. Or Young Demon. Unless you'd prefer to be called something else?"

Back in September, the stranded Nameks had wished themselves to a new home. Piccolo had been invited to go with them. To change planets or stay with Earth? That had not been an easy decision. He'd never expected to be presented with one even more personal. Especially not so abruptly. A different name? Well. At least this decision was easy.

"...I'd prefer for my uncle to find something else." Piccolo said, with careful anger. He was upset with himself as much as anyone. He hated anything that bound him to his uncle or got him compared to his father - and the name was certainly one of those things but... Imagination was not something that he had in abundance. He couldn't think of a better name. He didn't want a different name. He'd never had a different name. Why should he have to change?

"Your uncle had that name for at least two hundred years before your father was even created." Mister Popo was just able to read a certain demons mind, he forced a formal robe over a struggling pig and fetched out a sewing kit. "He IS the original owner, as it were. And his name is one of the only things that he was able to bring with him, from his own world. So I doubt that he will change it."

Master Roshi sensed a fight brewing and tried to cut it off with a nervous. "Then you'll both be Piccolo, I guess."

This earned him a glare.

Oolong spoke up, he'd been listening. He'd also been trying - without success - to avoid standing next to Mister Popo, who had thrown a robe over him and begun making alterations. "Aren't gods allowed to name things?" The pig threatened, his voice dripping with false sweetness. This was a stupid idea, Oolong knew, but he was not in a good mood. "I'm sure that I could think of _something_."

This earned a glare with fangs bared. "Don't humans eat creatures like you?" Piccolo countered.

Master Roshi shook his head, pulled a magazine out of thin air and left the room. There was no stopping this fight.

**ooxoo**

**"W**ow. That kid is fast..."

A dazzling light faded. Yamucha blinked. "Yea. She flies like you do, Puar."

This was a puzzle. Every time Yamucha got within a certain range of the pale green dot on the horizon, the kid threw a Solar Flare and powered down. By the time he could see again, she wasn't anywhere that he could detect. But with the distances that the chase had already covered... The little triclops girl had to be flying, somehow, even while powered down. And that was a new trick, she hadn't done that last time they'd seen her.

Of course, she'd barely been conscious the last time they had seen her.

The chase had not been constant. There had been breaks. Whenever Yamucha couldn't see or detect the kid, he couldn't follow her. So until he could see or detect her once more... There had been breaks. Yamucha had taken care of his own needs and was, as a result, feeling a lot better. He'd gone back to his hideout, the old desert hideout, a few times and gotten some sleep. He'd stopped by Ox Kings castle and helped tidy up the room full of paper. He'd checked on Lunch...

The idea of parenthood had, if anything, amplified her personalities. When Lunch had blue hair, she filled the castle with fresh baking and talked endlessly about the preparations. She wanted to find the best school. She wanted to find the perfect house. She wanted to find the cutest clothes and she didn't even know the girls size. Lunch was so happy to plan out activities for an alleged daughter that she couldn't remember and had, in fact, never met. They'd never seen Lunch happier. But then... Once in a while... Lunch would contemplate the cost of everything that she wanted for her child to have. Her excitement would be dampened by the understanding that parenthood was going to be expensive. In order to deal with this harsh truth, Lunch would sneeze. Her hair would go blond and she would attempt to rob a bank. Thankfully, Ox Kings castle was relatively isolated and Kuririn had taken the liberty of borrowing her hovercycle, so the urge to rob a major financial institution usually wore off before it could be acted on. Yamucha had only needed to break up an actual robbery in progress once. Ox King had since secured his airtank so that Lunch wouldn't be able to try and use it as a getaway vehicle again.

In the scattering of moments between the chase, the bandit had caught up to his best friend. And had, eventually, recruited her to help with the chase. Because Puar had been flying for longer than anyone he knew.

Oolongs situation was both funny and frightening. Yamucha didn't object to the idea of having a shapeshifter for the Earths Guardian. He just wasn't sure that they'd picked the right shapeshifter. For this reason, he'd tactfully chosen not to mention the subject. He wasn't sure that the news would be well recieved.

Puar was brave but she didn't like fighting. She was a cat. She liked having clean fur. She cared about grooming, it was instinctive. Puar was capable of fighting but it would have messed up her fur. There were many other reasons why she was not a warrior but that one summed up the core of her nature. It also helped to explain the flying. Puar flew. She had always flown, for as long as Yamucha had known her. She'd flown before he had. She had parents and relatives that flew. They hovered and floated and... As Yamucha had eventually figured out, it was all just because these cats really liked to keep their fur clean. That had been their motivation.

What kind of motivation had the little triclops girl found? How was she able to fly without powering up? Little cats did not have the same kind of weight to support, they were lighter in the air, so how could a child have found a way to support more weight with less power? And if a kid could do this... Then what about an adult?

_I have GOT to figure this out. _Yamucha decided. Because he knew that the minute that he figured it out, he'd be able to sneak up on the elusive kid.

"Chaozu does it, too." Puar remarked from her perch on his shoulder with a yawn. While Yamucha had been at the Ox Kings castle, Puar had left to get things in order with their mansion in West Capital. It was Yamuchas mansion - he'd earned and paid for it - but he'd been dead for a while, so everything was in her name now. She was legally responsible for the property. She was, as the owner, in charge of arranging the repairs. All the more reason to hang out with lawyers, really. Puar thought dreamily of the cat that she'd met in the lawyers office and was mentally humanoid enough to label that cat as a boyfriend.

It took her a moment to recover from the distraction and understand that she'd said something that her friend hadn't thought of. She flicked an ear and wrapped her tail a bit more tightly around his arm. "What?"

"How are you always seeing these things that I don't?" Yamucha muttered.

Puar smirked. "Could be because I'm your little sister."

She didn't mention the mansion. She was a different species than the creature she considered to be her elder brother and best friend - but they'd known each other for long enough that a sibling level of affection had developed. It was better, Puar felt, than a true sibling level of affection. Puar had and knew her family. She had real blood brothers and sisters, entire litters of them. Her feline clan was large. She mostly got along with them but some relations were a bit strained. Besides, between going off to school and then getting wrapped up in adventure... Puar hadn't lived with her real family much. She'd lived with her friend.

There was a mutual respect and friendship. They had grown up together and learned from each other. Yamucha had never picked on her as much as her actual brothers had. Instead Yamucha had demonstrated an ideal amount of big-brotherness, often just by being protective of her. Now it was his turn to be on the receiving end. If Puar could handle the reconstruction of the mansion all by herself... Well. Not really by herself. She'd have to hire some construction workers. And plummers. And electricians. And decorators. That sort of thing. The work had to pass inspection and she wasn't certified in any of those fields. But if she could handle the paperwork, the legal side and the money and the supervision... Maybe she could prove to her big brother, finally, that she was an adult and capable of taking care of herself. Maybe then he wouldn't worry for her so much.

It was nice to have a protective big brother. It was just a smidge hard to live with the parts of his personality that had been deeply traumatized, sometimes.

Puar didn't mention the mansion. Yamucha hadn't asked about her date.

It was a working truce, for now.

"Okay..." Yamucha gave up. He'd mentally relived every battle and spar involving Chaozu and still couldn't see how the trick worked. "What am I missing?"

Puar, like a dutiful little sister and truly good friend, decided not to answer that question at length. She could have. When you've known someone for more than half their life and then they ask what they're missing, there is not likely to be a shortage of replies. Puar adjusted her claws and thought about hairbrushes until the urge to be brutally honest passed.

Yamucha recognized this expression and waited.

"It's... a kind of...math." Puar began. In her mind, she went back to the Shapeshifter Academy and dusted off some textbooks. She blinked, realizing that she would need to condense roughly six years worth of advanced education into a statement that her friend would understand. He was smart but in the way of one who will die if they can not learn. Not in the way of one who has read books larger than themselves and full of words taller than themselves, which Puar had done. "It's like negative numbers." She decided and found that the rest of the explanation practically came on its own. "They're still numbers. If you power down - where does the power go? It doesn't go away. It's still inside you. Right? You just haven't learned to use the power without pulling it up first, right? I don't have a ton of power but I can use it without powering up."

She glanced down at a passing flock of birds, adjusted her claws again and added, as an afterthought. "Please don't try it from this height."

_...so it's all about the concentration of energy... _Yamucha thought and he wondered if he was going to be any good at this. He felt the claws change position in his shoulder and heard Puars request not to try it. But... He had recently written down several new variations on Soukidan, The Following Spheres and Kienzan, The Following Disc. And those were both guided attacks. And guided attacks were all about the concentration of energy. Because that was HOW the attacks were guided and... It couldn't be that hard...

The claws became talons. A tiny cat took on a shape with wings. She didn't have a ton of power but she could carry a friend in need.

She didn't let him fall _too_ far.

**ooxoo**

**R**ecovery had taken a few days. But today... Kami finished lighting the candles and muttered a few prayers. Then he considered recent events, listened to the fight going on in the dressing room of the palace and added a few more prayers.

He couldn't have missed being at the Lookout today.

Maybe he'd gotten a bit paranoid or superstitious over the last three hundred years but... Well. The dragonballs were his artifacts. He'd created them. That made it official business, to develop some rituals around them.

_One month from today. Let the countdown begin._ Kami placed an affectionate clawed hand on the head of an exquisite statue. The material was a white jade, very expensive even when it wasn't also incredibly ancient. The statue depicted a familiar dragon with details picked out in gold, silver and ivory. It was a good likeness, apart from the lack of color. Kami could almost imagine that the statues eyes had glowed red for a moment or that the statues head had nodded. But it hadn't. It never had. It didn't need to. The statue was not a living thing, it was just a symbol of one. The real deal was out there and...

Shenlong could hear him.

Kami was spirit-bound to the dragon. He'd created the dragonballs. Binding with the dragon had just been part of the deal. Shenlong could technically hear Kami all of the time but the dragon didn't always listen. Kami had to come to this shrine at the Lookout when he wanted to make sure that the dragon was paying attention.

It got kind of confusing, sometimes. Kami felt a bit off balance. His nephew couldn't hear the dragon. And the dragon couldn't hear his nephew. But Kami was bound to them both and could hear everything. He sometimes accidentally got his telepathic lines crossed. There had been a few instances where Kami had sent a thought to the dragon that he'd really intended for his nephew. Or vice versa. Piccolo hated it when that happened. And Shenlong...

The distant and gravely telepathic voice of the dragon politely informed the Guardian of Earth that he was looking forward to their retirement.

Yes... It was a bit awkward, with Shenlong. Kami patted the little statue and reminded himself that he was currently speaking to a creature of the right size to swallow the Lookout whole and with the kind of power to do much worse than that, if inclined.

The spirit-bond kept the dragon from being so inclined. That was the basic idea. The spirit-bond with Piccolo was different. Kami had known the dragon for centuries but felt closer to his nephew. They were the same species, they had more in common. A dragon could be polite but it never had to pretend to understand you.

Kami had been shot, a few days ago. He'd let the bullet hit him. Piccolo had felt it. Shenlong hadn't. But if Kami gave an order, Piccolo could ignore it. Shenlong couldn't.

Even if he'd ended up with a replacement by accident... No. There were no accidents. Everything happened for a reason. Roshi had been right, bless his perverted soul. A shapeshifter could make for an excellent guardian. And this particular shapeshifter had been living and sparring - even if only for magazines - at the Kame House for the last few years, so that was an added bonus. And the pig was skeptical, which was a healthy trait in a new guardian. And he wasn't elderly or trapped between spirit-bonds or...

The pig would do fine. Mister Popo would guide the lad. Kami would guide the lad as well. It was only right. As much as he looked forward to the leisure of retiring, he would stay on for a while first. They had to do things in order. No rushing the ceremony. No planning the vacation...

Life beyond the guardianship. What a strange idea, after so long. To be fully mortal again. There was so much to get organized! Where was Kami going to live, once he left the Lookout? Would he stay on Earth? Perhaps not. He'd become the Kami because they'd promised him a trip home. Historically, that's how it went on Earth. An alien landed, got trained, guarded the planet for a while and was given an interdimensional pass for a parting gift. So the aliens went back to their original homes. It was for the best. They had cared for the Earth but couldn't relax on it, not after being guardians. That would be like a person showing up to work on the day after they'd been fired. It was socially awkward. It was beyond socially awkward. Nobody could move on, if former guardians started hanging around and trying to act like they didn't still care about the place.

He'd been promised a trip home...

His original home world had been blown up by Freezia. But there was, Kami knew, a New Planet Namek. Landscapes painted in nothing but shades of green filled his vision as he tried to conceive of living there. What a wonderful, peaceful life that might be. And spare time, what a gift! There were so many books that he'd never gotten around to reading. He could finish his days in humble solitude, happy and content and waiting for the end to come...

A telepathic message told him to please get out of the shrine, all this wistful nostalgia was making the dragon ill.

Kami removed his hand from the statue and sighed. He did feel a bit nostalgic. He would miss the dragon, in spite of everything. But that was how retirement went. You became the guardian, you made the artifacts and they worked. When you died or retired, they stopped working. The next Kami had to create their own artifacts. That was part of the job.

He should probably mention that, to the next Kami.

Ah. Yes. That reminded him... His name. What were they going to do about that, once he stopped being the Kami? His name was Piccolo but his nephew was going to hate that. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad, though, because his nephew could stay here on Earth and he could go home and... Oh. Wait. Names didn't matter. They would still be spirit-bound. Shenlong would be free, once Kami retired but his nephew... No. So if Kami died - and he was expecting for that to happen, sooner or later - then Piccolo would die as well. And there was no sense in bickering about a shared name if they weren't going to be alive to use it. They could bicker in the afterlife, if it was still an issue there.

Kami stood in the doorway of the shrine and listened. The fight in the dressing room sounded like it was under control. Mister Popo had probably gotten involved. The elfin descendant could be bloody dangerous when provoked. Who'd have ever guessed that a flying carpet could be such an effective weapon?

The dragonballs... It was one month, to the day, from when they would activate and become useable. And it might not take long, for the artifacts to be gathered. Someone, Kami was mildly aware, was already gathering them. So as long as he didn't die within the next thirty days... Then one last wish could be made. And then, he could retire.

**ooxoo**

**T**enshinhan was sorting through paper when he noticed that Chaozu took on an expression that, as a friend, he really and sincerely did not like. It was an expression that said a prediction was coming.

The problem with having a psychic best friend... Well. There were a few. It was hard to keep secrets, for starts. Which only mattered if you had any secrets to keep. Tenshinhan didn't, not anymore. Not from this friend. But... Tenshinhan had learned that most psychics, even skilled psychics, were not permitted to see their own futures. What was more common was for the psychic to see the future as it pertained to other people. Most often, their friends. So the expression that Tenshinhan saw... Was one that he'd seen before. More than enough.

And it resolved, with barely a sound from Chaozu, into another familiar expression. It was the: 'He just saw MY future and he didn't like it. But he's not going to tell me.'

Tenshinhan let this pass without making a big deal out of it. He trusted his friend. If it was important, Chaozu would tell him. The assassin focused on the paperwork around him and went back to writing. He was making edits to his new copies of certain stolen books.

Chaozu was not helping with this. Although he _had_ looked at Kuririns very rough drafts of the Perfectly Evil Dodonpa and then literally filled in the blanks. The attack was finalized now, all down on paper. Sitting neatly on top of the Freezia folder. Dodonpa was, after all, Chaozus favorite energy technique. He'd developed at least a dozen useful variations over the years. So it wasn't really surprising, even if the pale warrior didn't have the power to use a Perfectly Evil Dodonpa, that...

For just half a nonsecond the energy of the cabin froze. It was winter outside but inside, it was not that kind freezing.

Chaozu left the room for moment. When he came back, he was hovering between two swords. He wore an expression of mild pain that comes from suppressing a massive amount of concern. "Ten-san?"

Attentive silence was enough of a reply.

There was an unsettling quaver in the childish voice. "You really can't tell which one is enchanted, can you?"

Eight swords. Two enchanted, one masterwork and five plain. But they all looked plain. Yajirobe had chosen to leave the eight katana. What kind of sword did the samurai carry now, that he would leave three dangerous swords in their care? What kind of sword did the samurai have, that he wasn't afraid to spar against these? Tenshinhan didn't know for certain and that bugged him. He was usually good at these things... But even the one sword that the samurai had used and had taken with him, it had looked plain. How could anyone believe that it was divine?

"Look at them." His hovering friend encouraged, fighting for optimism. "Take your time."

The swords levitating on either side of Chaozu still looked plain.

_And you picked a bad location for the cabin... _Chaozu thought but didn't share these thoughts. He was feeling a bit frozen again, mentally compiling a list of his friends symptoms. He'd noticed, for a while now. He was the only person on Earth who could have noticed.

Ever since their reincarnation, about two months ago... But... Reincarnation, it took some time to get over. That was understandable. And such a lot of things had happened since then. Chaozu had flown all over the planet. He'd been talking to lawyers and gathering data and searching for corpses and explaining history and... Tenshinhan had kept busy as well, his only substantial down time had likely been during his kidnapping. And being knocked out by dark clouds and then kidnapped, released and tracked by Red Ribbon... It was the sort of thing which could delay the recovery of a persons health.

Chaozu had noticed and had wanted, had chosen, to believe that in due time things would be all right. His friend was the type of person who could survive an ugly political revolution. His friend was one of the strongest warriors on Earth. Of course Ten-san was going to be okay. How could something as relatively peaceful as a temporary death take such a toll?

It had taken the visit from the samurai to make Chaozu stop denying the importance of what he'd noticed all along. The thoughts spiraled but he kept a close grip on them, his mind was heavily guarded to keep these realizations private. _Yajirobe wasn't just sent here for his own sake, he was sent here for YOUR sake. We have some senzu because of Yaji-san and that might help a little but..._

The mental list of symptoms was two months long. And the more recent additions to that list showed that Ten-san was not getting better. Reincarnation clearly hadn't agreed with him. The assassin didn't even realize the extent to which he was sick. The gods did. Kami had sent Piccolo down, that one time, to help guard them from Red Ribbon. More recently, Korin had sent the samurai.

How much help could the senzu be? Maybe not enough. The condition was still more spiritual than physical. Chaozu would have used telekinesis to drag his friend back to a hospital if the condition had been merely physical.

The best assassin on Earth... Had sparred with a samurai. And the samurai had lived. Which was good, Chaozu considered the samurai a friend. But it was also strange because Yajirobe hadn't even been hurt. And Tenshinhan had a natural gift for accuracy. How could the best assassin on Earth - the former Champion of the Tenkaichi Budoukai - have missed a target? And what might happen when the samurai returned for further sparring? What if he'd gotten better with the sword by then? It was a divine blade, it was going to get attuned to its new owner eventually. As a samurai, Yajirobe had to know what he was wielding but... He hadn't begun to tap into what that blade could do. What might happen to Tenshinhan if he couldn't percieve the danger?

There was an answer. It wasn't pleasant.

And the worst part, for Chaozu, was that he'd seen this future coming. It was just one of those things. Sometimes you knew where you were going but didn't expect to actually ever get there and then... There you were. Life did that.

Chaozu went, if possible, even paler. He forced a tight smile and suppressed the impulse to burst into tears. Aware that this was not the sort of behavior that professional assassins or even former emperors generally approved of, he left the room again. He hadn't let the swords drop so he spent a few moments carefully putting them away on a rack. He was shaking so much that he nearly lost some fingers. The undisputed Earthly master of Dodonpa, the Fingertip Blast and he'd nearly lost some fingers.

And the truly worst part... Was going to be the next part. The future branched out. There was more than one path. Chaozu had, so far, seen four versions of Tenshinhans potential future. At the moment, he didn't like any of them. Because they all had one thing in common: a decision had to be made.

One life? Or three billion?

Undo the damage caused by Garlic Junior? Or save an assassin?

Kami was going to retire. There was no talking him out of it. He'd been the Guardian for three hundred years and wanted to step down. Every skilled psychic on Earth could feel the mental energy of the Guardianship blurring. Kami had been a presence on their world for three centuries. His absence could not go unnoticed. And what that absence meant, aside from the loss of a friend and teacher... Aside from a new local god being appointed... Was that the Earth set of dragonballs would be activated, for the last time ever, in a month.

The dragonballs could only grant one wish. Chaozu did not know which one it would be yet. It wasn't his place, he felt, to choose.

It was Tenshinhans.

One month... Chaozu did not want to even try to explain the situation to his friend. He wanted to put it off. Even just for a day or two. But the wish was going to be an important decision. So it had better be an informed decision. Which meant that Chaozu was going to have to do the informing. Just as soon as he found the words. Or maybe it would be a better idea to find the dragonballs first. That seemed logical. Why try to explain about the wish if he didn't have the wish-granting artifacts?

He was psychic. He also knew how to detect energy. Thus Chaozu was one of the only people in the world who could gather the dragonballs without needing a radar to locate them. But because so much else had been going on... He hadn't. And someone else had. And Chaozu knew that, now. And that newsflash didn't thrill him, either.

Still. Getting the dragonballs had to be done. And the journey would give him time to consider what had to be said.

Chaozu picked a sword off the rack. He rummaged in a drawer, found a scarf and tied it around the handle. He went back to the study. "If Yaji-san comes over for more training, use this one." He left the weapon with the increasingly curious assassin and went towards the kitchen. He paused at the hall closet to put on a coat and deliberately chose a hat that was too big for him. As someone who had more or less grown up expecting to be attacked - and who had survived all of the politically motivated attempts to end his life - Chaozu had always kept a few things aside, packed together in a handy little satchel so that they could be grabbed and taken in case of emergency. He found the satchel, he kept it hidden in the kitchen, with ease and slung it over a shoulder. He checked the contents, added a few things and nodded once assured that this was all he'd need. "I'll be back later." Chaozu told the house in general. He left through a kitchen window.

Half an hour later, flying quickly, he departed from the mountain range. It had been Chaozus decision to live at this specific location. It was an inside joke between friends. It was the mountain range that his friend had been named after. These mountains, on maps of Earth they were labeled as the Tien Shan Han. The Celestial Rocks.

**ooxoo**


	30. Limits: November 27th, 763 AD

_**Eclipse**_

**by DoraMouse**

**ooxoo**

**Authors Note: **Thanks for being with me on this rollercoaster, Esplandian. Are you a poet? Your reviews read like haikus. I love it. Natsu-chan! Happy belated birthday, my friend! Thank you for coming. Whenever you have the time, the story is here. I write for the characters as much as the fans now. I hope this story reachs some people.

**ooxoo**

**Limits: November 27th, 763 A.D.**

**M**ore than three hundred years ago...

A tall green warrior stood by a broken down spaceship, looking concerned. He'd been born and raised on a different world and had spent his time on Earth in isolation so he still had trouble understanding the local languages. His name was Piccolo but that would change, in another thirty years. He had just been informed of this.

"Kami...?" He said, trying to understand and not having much luck. He was baffled. He was speaking in Namekian. "You are asking ME to become..."

Three creatures stood... Well. No. Two creatures stood. One creature hovered. The brown warrior with the blend of elfin and genie traits, he hovered. He had introduced himself as Mister Popo. He was standing - okay, so he stood - but on a flying carpet. And the flying carpet hovered. And it was such a strange sight that even the Namekian warrior, who had spent his time on Earth in isolation, realized that the three creatures who had introduced themselves were not typical of the Earths native population.

He was an alien and he was, he felt, being addressed by fellow aliens.

Mister Popo spoke with a heavy elfin accent. "Please understand, this is not a rushed decision. We have been watching you for the past thirty years. We feel that you have great potential."

"Yes." Purred a white cat with a wooden walking stick. "And there will, of course, be some job training."

The Namekian warrior had, prior to crashing on Earth, never seen a lifeform like this. Nothing on planet Namek - or on any of the planets that he'd seen since leaving his homeworld because coming to Earth hadn't been a direct trip - had fur. The mere sight of a creature covered in fur... He tried not to stare. He'd had no idea, at the time, what a cat was. He had no idea that it was a bit unusual for a cat to be this large, walking upright and speaking. The cat had eyes that were squinted shut. The cat smiled a lot. It made the Namekian warrior uneasy.

"But... Why ME?" The Namekian felt cautious. "Don't any of the other creatures on this world want this job? Wouldn't they be better for it? It IS their world."

"Yes." Korin smiled. His fur was not purely white, as it would become in time. His back was covered in faint black stripes that whispered of his tiger origins. "That is the trouble, you understand. Most the natives of this world assume that they already know everything of importance about this planet. The truth of their ignorance is not an easy thing for them to confront. If we selected a resident then it would be hard for them to overcome the conditioning that they were raised with. It is in fact much easier for us to train an alien who has no deeply held beliefs from or fond childhood memories of human civilization."

"Being the Guardian requires an open mind." nodded Mister Popo.

The Namekian warrior considered this information. He still felt baffled and cautious. "Erm. Well. I suppose that makes some sense but... Why not one of YOU?"

"We are already gods for this world." Korin said, gesturing to include himself and Mister Popo. "We can help you and train you but we cannot disregard our own realms."

Mister Popo agreed. "Besides, we have each been Guardians before. That was long ago. It would not be fair or healthy for anyone to hold the job indefinitely."

"Oh. Uhm. May I ask, why does this world need a guardian? Don't you already have one?" The Namekian warrior did not have any clue what religion was but he was still mildly disturbed to think that he'd been stranded on a planet that lacked such a thing as a protector. He added, with a certain degree of panic. "What happened to the LAST guardian?"

There was a long moment of uncomfortable silence.

There was a creature who was not an alien. The Namekian warrior still thought of this creature as an alien. But that was only because he'd been living in isolation and had never before seen anything that was female.

She was human. A tall young lady with dark red hair. From the tip of her pointy hat to the soles of her pointy shoes, she wore black. With the exception of her lovely face, her pale skin was covered. Gloves, socks, shoes, hat, a long robe with long sleeves... All black. The only hint of decoration on her was a plain silver ring, worn over the top of a gloved finger.

Being Namekian, the warrior had less than no idea what that ring symbolized when he first saw it.

There was a strange energy around her and also, more visibly, a heavy glass sphere that floated beside her. She smiled and absently ran her fingers over the surface of the crystal ball, leaving crackling trails of neon light to bounce within the sphere. She seemed to look _through _people instead of _at _them. "The fate of our last guardian?" She chuckled, speaking for the first time. "Ah, that is a worthy question but do not concern yourself with the answer. Know that our most recent guardian has been retired, that is enough."

After allowing himself a moment to be sure that he had heard this correctly and understood what was implied, the Namekian warrior took a step backwards and forced a nervous smile. "Well, thank you very much. I do believe that I'll go and work on repairing my spaceship now. All I need are a few spare parts..."

Korin sighed and flattened an ear. "It'll be about three centuries before the natives of this planet have developed the right kind of technology to supply you with spare parts."

"Yes," Mister Popo agreed but not without kindness, "you might as well come with us. The Guardian does get a free trip home, if they live to retirement."

**ooxoo**

**T**hree hundred years ago...

Kami felt too shaken to stand, so he knelt instead and tried to gather his scattered thoughts. His first day as Guardian, what a disaster! How was he ever going to make it to retirement if every day was like this? Maybe taking the job had been a mistake. Kami looked at the remains of the Lookout and shivered. They had barely managed to keep the battles from spilling over, falling to Earth... _Some protector I'm turning out to be._

It took the combined efforts of Korin and Mister Popo, both of whom were also scruffy from the recent events, to convince him not to retire that very minute.

"You can fix all of this." Mister Popo reminded him. "Those artifacts you've been working on..."

Ah, yes. The dragonballs. Kami had started to create them a few months ago. He'd wanted to have them done before the ceremony. That was the tradition. Once an apprentice was sworn in as the official guardian then they showed the depth of their commitment by presenting the world with a gift in return - the artifacts were that gift. That's why it was a required part of the job, to create some artifacts. The title and the artifacts... For the guardianship, it was the equivalent of a couple exchanging wedding rings. A guardian didn't just promise to take care of the world, a guardian was symbolically married to it. Kami had gotten his title but the artifacts were not finished yet. He shouldn't have even let them do the ceremony until the dragonballs were finished but...

His first attempt had turned out badly. Kami had tried to create a set that was bright and cheerful - he'd been hoping for them to be green, naturally - but they'd turned dark reddish black. Right in front of him, they'd gone evil! Really, it was discouraging... Mister Popo had locked the Black Star set away for safekeeping until they could be destroyed. It would take a few hundred years for the energy to weaken to the point where they could be destroyed safely. Hopefully no one would ever be tempted to use the stupid things. Kami had despaired about this for a while and then Korin had spoken to him about the ceremony.

"When you recieve the title of Kami, when you truly become the Guardian, you are purged of all evil." Korin had said, "It will be a break from tradition but... If you allow us to bestow the title upon you, first... Then there will be no evil left within you, to taint your artifacts with."

So he'd become the Kami. And the dragonballs weren't finished yet. Because his evil half, once purged, had tried to kill him. He thought of Daimio. _I had THAT much evil within me?!_ It was not an easy thing to come to grips with.

And THEN... _Garlic, why?_ His friend and fellow alien had betrayed him. After thirty years of training together... Even though they'd been rivals, a level of friendship had existed between them. After all they were both in the same boat. It had been a healthy competition. They'd helped each other as often as not. They had sparred and studied together. They could both look down on Earth and shake their heads at human behavior. They'd shared a profound understanding of the planet that only non-native creatures could have appreciated.

"Mutaito-sama..." Whimpered a young man, tears streaming down his face.

Ah, yes. It had taken more than Kami to defeat Daimio. It had taken more than Mister Popo and Korin to defeat Garlic. There were two legendary human martial artists at the Lookout and one of them was dead. The other... "Roshi, wasn't it?" Kami tried to put his own exhaustion and swirling emotion aside. He was, for better or worse, the local god now. He had to think of others.

The young man nodded. He wasn't young. He looked young but he already had an age close to three digits long. He was a warrior and something in his training had reversed the aging process, to an extent. Still. He was younger than Kami so he got labeled as young. The man had met Kami before but still seemed in awe of the green warrior, he bowed as much as his injuries would let him when he spoke. "Yes, Kami-sama... You remember me?"

"I'd be hard pressed to forget you." Kami said but added, in his mind. _You seem to be on good terms with a lot of dangerous people. And I believe that you left a few...educational...magazines here on your last visit. _It wasn't the time to mention such things. Kami winced and stood upright. He had to look the part, didn't he? No one was going to take comfort from him if he was kneeling in a pool of blood, right? _Mutaito-sama... _He tried not to look at the corpse of his friend. He tried not to worry about the fate of the world. Kami stood beside the grief-striken student. "He was a good man and an excellent teacher."

"Yes." Roshi remained in a kneeling position by the corpse of his mentor but let the sadness in his voice be replaced by determination. He clenched a fist. "We will have to honor his memory."

"Yes."

"I'll create a tournament..." Roshi began. He was a bit wiry for a warrior, with a colorful mustache and a head full of hair.

"That would be a fine tribute." At this point Kamis mind began to recover from the numbness of shock, loss, grief, pain and disappointment. Garlic had been banished to an alternate dimension. But Daimio... Had been sealed into a denshi jar. Where was that jar, now? He'd lost track of it during the struggle that Garlic had created...

"In theory..." Korin was looking thoughtful, his chin cupped in a paw and his voice down to a feline whisper. "If those artifacts of yours can grant a wish... Could we not make a wish to restore life to Mutaito?"

The immortal white cat now had their full attention.

Roshi struggled with the concept. "My sensei died a noble death." He floundered, clearly wanting to know if reincarnation was possible despite his protests. "To undo such an act of kindness would be to question his honor and..."

"It would undo the Seal." Intoned a familar voice. And there she was. The woman in black. Her young appearance was an illusion, too. She was even older than Roshi.

"Sister!" Roshi shouted the word in a way that made about thousand other words evident. Not the least of which was a general feeling of: _Where have you been? We could have used your help!_

The martial artists and other warriors of Earth, Kami had learned during his training, were the front line of defense. If anything threatened the world then the natives had to try and deal with it first. Because if the natives didn't care then why should the gods? But... This lady in black... She was not a warrior. She was a witch. A magician. A psychic. And... All by herself, she had the skill and the power to represent the absolute last resort when it came to defending the world. Because if she truly powered up then, due to the sheer amount of complicated magical side effects that would be created by her aura... No matter what her intentions, she was just as likely to destroy the Earth as she was to defend it.

"Madame." Korin smiled but kept his voice calm, he was glad to see her but respected that recent events had been difficult.

"Madame." Mister Popo acknowledged her with a slight bow. She was mortal but the gods bowed to her.

Kami still felt nervous around her. She was, after all, the reason that the previous Kami had retired. But on this day for the first time, he saw a glint of true humanity in her manner.

"If you revive Mutaito," Her voice faltered at the name but only slightly. Her face was mostly hidden by the wide brim of her hat but she had the air of someone who had been crying recently. "then you undo his sacrifice. He gave his soul for the Seal. If he does not remain dead then there is nothing holding that demon in the denshi jar. I have already spoken to his ghost. He confirms this. You must respect his death."

There wasn't a ring on her finger anymore.

"Hello." Said the Crane Master. He was smirking. He looked at his rival and at the assembled gods. They were all still hurt, how wonderful. He looked at the body of the teacher who, he felt, had never trusted him and felt empowered. He looked at the woman in black, a widow now. At least she wouldn't have to change her clothes to mourn her loss. Ha. "I believe that you've misplaced something." The Crane Master held up the denshi jar containing the demon and felt that soon, the world would understand the wisdom of bowing down to him. He could just destroy them all now - or let the demon do that work for him, more precisely - and then take over as god but that seemed too easy. He wanted to make these people suffer first. He wanted to let them believe that they had hope so that he could watch them when he took it away. He was enjoying the idea of making them beg. "You are going to have to give me some very good reasons not to open this. So start talking."

"Why you..." Roshi lunged at his rival but was restrained. None of them were in any condition for another fight.

Kami turned to Korin. "Kill me." said the Guardian. "I die, the demon dies and the world will be better off."

"No." Madame Baba seemed to shrink a little that day, she knew what was coming. "I have seen that future and I can not allow it." She glared at the Crane Master. "Give us your demands, you ingrate. We will comply."

The Crane Master had no kind feelings for his former sensei. He chose the most hurtful thing he could think of. "Disown all of your children. Let them forget you."

Roshi went every shade of anger and grief that had ever been invented. "Sister! You can't!"

"I can." She said, looking smaller all the time and trembling with outraged frustration. Her power was immense but she couldn't do a thing. To attack the arrogant idiot would cause the denshi jar to break and then they'd have the demon to worry about again and nobody else on the planet knew how to do the Mafuba attack, Mutaito had been the only one. So they would have to kill the demon and then they would lose Kami and... No. It wasn't acceptable. "And for the sake of the world, I must. They will not forget their father but they will not remember me or my relatives." She cast the spell. "What else?"

The Crane Master laughed.

When the painful negotiations were finally over, she went to the Namekian warrior who had survived - just barely - his first day as the Guardian and called him by his name. "Finish the artifacts." She hissed. She gathered her agonized little brother, the healthy young man was bald now and had a hunched back, and then went home.

**ooxoo**

**N**ow...

Kuririn had been tricked. And trapped. And it was a halfway comfortable trap, which made matters worse. He would have been more inspired to find a way out of an uncomfortable trap.

He knew, now, that the energy he had sensed a few days ago... No one else on Earth had sensed it. Because it hadn't really been there. Kuririn had been up at the Lookout, teasing Oolong - his head still hurt to think of the shapeshifter becoming a god - and then... Kuririn had detected Goku. At the Kame House. So of course, he'd gone tearing off and hadn't even paused to notice... That Gohan wasn't investigating. Nor was Yamucha. Nor was Piccolo. Or Kami. Or Master Roshi. Or anyone else able to detect energy. Mostly Gohan, though. Because there was no way the kid would ignore his own father. And the last they'd heard of Goku, he'd been lost in space. He'd chosen to stay out in space, for some reason, after the battles with Freezia. So it had seemed feasible... They had all missed Goku, maybe he'd missed them as well. Maybe Goku had finally returned home!

Kuririn had wanted so much to believe that was the case. It still physically hurt to have had that particular hope dashed.

It also physically hurt if he tried to step out of the arena.

The Kame House belonged to Master Roshi. The old man was fairly well off, he'd had a long enough life to see his investments mature. He'd won a few tournaments. Kuririn had only witnessed the most recent of his teachers victories, the 21st Tenkaichi Budoukai - where Master Roshi had ended up spending the prize money on dinner for everyone - but Kuririn was aware that the old man had been the Champion of Earth before. Ages ago, probably. Before he'd retired and become a hermit on an island. So money was not an issue, for Master Roshi. However Master Roshi only owned the Kame House. Someone else owned the actual island.

And She had been waiting there, instead of Goku.

As a former monk, Kuririn did not have a high opinion of the witch. She was Master Roshis elder sister and so that made respecting her worthwhile but...

Kuririn had fought here before. That was not a good memory. A vampire had nearly killed him. He'd been feeling so confident, before that battle. He had done well at the 21st World Tournament, even if Roshi had won it. Being knocked out by a vampire... Kuririn had felt it unfair, to take his pride down so many notches and so quickly. As hard as he'd worked... He just hadn't been prepared. The vampire flew. Kuririn hadn't been able to fly yet. The vampire sucked his blood. How could he have been prepared for that?! Freezia was the most evil opponent ever but the vampire was still, in Kuririns mind, a close second. What kind of honorable warrior wanted to gain victory by drinking their opponents blood?!

It didn't help his self-esteem that, after being rescued by his friends, he'd gotten to sit on the sidelines and watch two non-warriors defeat the vampire with ease.

The arena was a circle of tile located outdoors in an oasis of the desert. There was a lake with decorative bridges connecting several shrines and foyers. There were pyramids, casting triangular shade across the landscape of shifting sands and palm trees. It was winter, in some parts of the world. Not here.

There was a witch. THE witch.

She made her fortune by telling other people their fortunes. She'd been doing this for hundreds of years. That was all Kuririn really knew about the witch, aside from her being Master Roshis sister. She charged millions for a simple statement. She allowed those who could not pay for her advice to fight her guards for the privilege of speaking to her. The vampire had been one of those guards. Kuririn had only seen Madame Baba a couple of times and only knew her as her current shape. She was one of the very few creatures he'd ever met that was shorter than him. Kuririn might have liked her for that alone, if she hadn't been so cruel. She would have let the vampire kill him, he suspected.

Now he was trapped. In her arena. To be one of her guards.

Miffed would have been an understatement. Kuririn had refused, so far, to fight with anyone seeking the fortunetellers advice. He had argued with more than few people and had even managed to persuade some of them that they didn't need the witches advice. Kuririn was turning away customers. He was proud to have done so. He was also mildly surprised that there were_ so many _customers, still. The line stretched out across the desert. He'd waited in that line, once. Had it always been this way? It was almost as if the black mist, all the destruction... Hrm. Maybe the disaster was driving business here instead of keeping people from coming. Maybe people felt even more insecure about the future, now. Who could blame them? But who could afford...?

The witch hadn't spoken to him. Not a single word. She had trapped him and dragged him here and had bound him to the arena without even looking at him. She had some round little ghosts working for her and even they had barely spoken to him. The ghosts had brought Kuririn food, bottles of water to drink, buckets of water to get cleaned up with and blankets to sleep on. They had also brought him a fighting uniform which he refused to wear.

Kuririn had been through many battles over the course of his life and he had worn several different uniforms. At the battles against Freezia, he'd even been willing to wear the standard armor issued to all of Freezias minions. Sure - he'd hesitated. Wearing the same type of outfit as the enemy was not something that he'd taken lightly. But... Well... The key to fights was surviving them, right? Because if you didn't survive then any other goals you had... Anyone or anything that you had been fighting to protect... Usually, the news would not be good. So having allegiances was understandable but it was not always practical. Armor was armor. Kuririn was not the type to turn down something that might improve his odds of survival. But the uniform that had been offered to him here, at this arena, by the little round ghosts... It had looked like a normal fighting outfit but if it came from the witch then how could it be? Kuririn did not trust the witch. So he had just flat out refused to wear the uniform. He was still in the casual clothes that he'd done so much writing in. He'd washed the outfit a few times but was getting homesick for his wardrobe.

The ghosts would introduce the next customers and could arrange for breaks from customers. He hadn't needed many breaks. Most of the customers didn't make it as far as Kuririn. They were either paying or were defeated by one of the other guards, in a different arena. An indoor arena. The indoor arena, Kuririn knew, was a narrow plank suspended over a vat of flesh-eating acid. He'd seen warriors go in to that building and not many came out. Sometimes he thought he could hear their distant screams. The witch and the ghosts... They didn't seem affected. Was this how the business went every day? People were lining up across the desert, practically volunteering to die? What was the point of defending the world from hostle aliens when something so corrupt was permitted to exist?

Kuririn wanted to leave but he was stuck in the outdoor arena. There was some sort of magical force field around the place that kept his friends from detecting him. It had to be a decent strength force field because he'd already thrown every attack that he knew at it, including some of the new attacks. And he was still trapped. Attacking the barrier only seemed to make it stronger. Kuririn had given up on his assault after realizing this. He had spent the majority of his time since then trying to meditate or practice his martial arts forms but it was hard to be at peace in this place. He'd woken up from a nap to see the ghosts scrubbing the arena once. But that was about it, as far as peaceful experiences went. The spirits here were too busy to spare him much notice. About the only creatures that had listened to him so far were the customers that he'd scared away.

Where the heck did the witch get off, having so much power? Why were the gods so fond of someone whose idea of customer service included death? And why hadn't she helped the warriors when they were fighting against...

An energy signature registered. Kuririn ignored it. He wasn't going to be tricked again.

The energy perisisted. It eventually resolved into, first, a distant pale blue flame. Then, as it continued to approach, a warrior. A familiar warrior.

"Hi." Chaozu powered down but remained in the air. He could fly or hover without throwing all his energy behind it - he knew that trick - but powered up when he needed speed. He could have approached without being detected but the witch was psychic and so that defeated the point. You couldn't sneak up on Madame Baba. It would be easier to sneak up on an assassin. Especially for Chaozu, who'd had practice at that sort of thing.

There was a whole string of thoughts that trampled through Kuririns mind. It started with an: _Anybody but him..._ And ended up somewhere around: _But why would HE need to come HERE?_

"You're psychic! You can't be here for the witches advice!" Kuririn heard himself exclaim. He'd had battles with skilled psychics in the past: General Blue of Red Ribbon and Gurd - or had it been Guildo? - of the Ginyu Force and... Yea. Chaozu. Even though Kuririn had won that fight, at the 22nd Budoukai, he had been scared half to death by it. He'd nearly been scared all the way to death. He still had the uneasy feeling that maybe he shouldn't have won. Kuririn had that feeling about most of his battles though. Which was why Kuririn just basically didn't care to expand his fighting resume. He would have welcomed a rescue from Piccolo at this point. Or maybe even Vegeta, if the arrogant prince were still Earthbound. Let someone stronger deal with this. Someone who wanted the challenge. Kuririn just didn't want to be seen here, trapped, by someone that he wasn't sure he could trust.

The last time he'd seen Chaozu had been at Yamuchas mansion. The pale warrior had shown them the corpses of the genetic children and had eventually given Kuririn the news of Shirleys existence. Gohan had confirmed that. Kuririn could forgive the six year old for being blunt but... He felt a grudge, against the psychic. Because there was so much that the psychic hadn't warned them about.

Kuririn truly didn't want to fight again - but there was a temptation, for this opponent. Things had changed, right? A rematch... They could both fly, now. And Chaozu had reached his limit during the training at the Lookout. Kuririn hadn't. Maybe a rematch wouldn't be such a bad idea. Was that what needed to happen, to get out of the trap?

The pale warrior sighed. "I CAN still read your mind, you know." He looked past the arena and his voice became more polite. "Greetings, Madame."

The witch stood on her crystal ball, floating behind the arena. Her skin was yellow with age and deep with wrinkles. Her red hair looked like something that belonged on the end of a broomstick. She was barely two foot tall and had a few warts. No one who saw her these days would be able to believe what a great beauty she had once been. No one who saw her these days knew her real name. She was called Uranai Baba, even by her own brother and the gods, but that was just her main job description - she had been reduced to an old woman and a fortuneteller. That was all that the world knew about her. But... The Crane Master was dead, now. So the ancient bargain no longer applied. The witch folded her arms, pulling her black robe around her. She nodded, her wide brimmed hat covering the expression on her face. Things were going to start changing. Her powers were coming back and she had three hundred years worth of revenge to get caught up on. The witch had already started to seek her revenge and she would continue that pursuit. Right after she finished this favor for Korin.

Kuririn got the distinct feeling that he was being left out of an important conversation. The force field wasn't just trapping him, it was dulling his ability to percieve certain energies.

"No, actually." Chaozu winced, he was picking up most of what Kuririn had missed. Also, being in the presence of the only mortal on Earth more psychic than him tended to induce headaches. "We're both psychic. We don't need to talk about what is going to happen, we've seen it."

"Mind telling me, then?" Kuririn tried not to feel doomed.

Chaozu seemed to consider. "You are correct." He said, hovering by the side of the arena but very careful not to end up over the circle of tile. "I'm not here for advice. I could afford Madames advice, anyway. Or destroy her guards. But... "

"Uhm. Excuse me?" Kuririn interrupted, skepticism overcoming everything else. "I happen to be one of those guards right now...?"

Chaozu stared at him for a while. It was an appraising stare. He didn't want to have to mention that he was collecting dragonballs and that Madame Baba already had the whole set. Kuririn would want to know what wish was needed and that was the type of discussion that could shorten Tenshinhans life. The monk would choose to undo the damage caused by Garlic Junior, if the wish was left to him. So the wish could not be allowed to be Kuririns. It had to be Tenshinhans. That was the only way the assassin would have a chance. That was the only way for Chaozu to be at peace with whatever wish got made. Tenshinhan had already been wished back to life once - but not with the Earth set of dragonballs. So the option was there, as long as the assassin was given the choice.

And since Chaozu didn't want to mention this to Kuririn... He was going to have to mention at least two other things to Kuririn. For this, Chaozu had come prepared. He was even feeling generous. He would mention three things.

"You're trapped, huh?" Chaozu flicked a blast at the arena. The force field absorbed it. "If you want out of the trap, don't challenge me. No rematch. Okay? I can give you three reasons to avoid the fight but if I do, you are not allowed to ask me about why I'm here. Deal?"

Kuririn was not the most trusting of people. He was upset and feeling like he should not have to be rational. However... He was also trapped. And Kuririn thought about the Saiyans, Goku in particular... And of all the fights where he'd been standing on the sidelines, worried sick because Goku let the opponent beat on him for a while before getting up and securing victory. And of all the many times that Kuririn had vowed to never ever do that. He could probably beat this psychic up but what was the point? Kuririn didn't know. He was a careful warrior. He wasn't going to just beat things up because he could. He wasn't Saiyan and as much as he respected his friends, he was glad for that. He didn't ever want to be so strong that the pride blinded him. He folded his arms and tried to scowl. "Deal. Give me the reasons."

Chaozu smiled, seeming relieved. Had he not seen that part of the future? "Okay. Reason one: you think that I hit my limit at the Lookout. And I did. But..." Chaozu relived a self-destruct technique that was not meant to have been a self-destruct technique. He'd been lucky with how things had worked out which was a strange thing for even him to admit. "I've died since then, Kuririn. I blew up. You saw it happen."

Kuririn was not pleased to be transported back to the hopelessness he'd felt at that particular battle. "Thanks for reminding me. What are you getting at?"

"The body that I have now is not the same one that I had a year ago." Chaozu shrugged. "I have a new limit and I haven't found it yet."

For a few bewildered moments, Kuririn realized that a)this was true for Chaozu and b)it was ALSO true for him. Because he'd been blown up by Freezia so... The physical body that Kuririn had now... Was not the same one that he had been born with. So... His physical limit... Had probably been altered as well. Freezia had changed shape during the battles, to acquire more power. Vegeta had described a Saiyan transformation and Goku had probably reached it. Aware of these things, Kuririn had - after returning to life - spent awhile wondering about what a transformation might look like for humans. He hadn't realized that death and reincarnation could be part of _that _transformation.

Until now.

"Oh my god..." Kuririn was not usually the sort to utter this phrase but that's how badly the surprise caught him off guard. It was almost kind of embarrassing that he had needed to be told. If he'd had a pint of self-confidence, he might have noticed sooner that he was literally a different warrior after the last reincarnation. But a transformed warrior... Kuririn hadn't thought of it in those terms. He looked the same. He felt the same. It was only his limits that had changed - but that was still a transformation, wasn't it?

"Speaking of god," Chaozu opened his satchel and searched through it, "that's reason number two."

"I am not sure if I'm ready to hear this..."

"It's all right." Chaozu assured. "The apprenticeship usually takes thirty or so years for new guardians. But when Oolong does get sworn in - IF he gets sworn in - then they're gonna purge him of all his evil. So..."

The mental image of what Oolong might be like, after the pig was purged of all evil, made Kuririn cringe. _There won't be anything left! _The mental image of what the evil incarnate side of a shapeshifting pig might look like - and what he would be bound to do, as far as endangering the Earth - was not very pleasant either. _Great. Another friend has become a timebomb... _Kuririn had always sort of dreaded having to fight an evil version of Goku someday. The concept of someday having to save the world from an evil version of Oolong was not much less dreadful. Unless...

"There has got to be a way to prevent this!" Kuririn looked from the witch to the pale warrior imploringly. "Have either of you seen what we have to do to stop it?"

Madame Baba spoke, her ancient voice as crackled as her skin. "The pig can try to flunk the apprenticeship. He intends to, I believe. But that is not an easy task. Gods are philosophical by nature. They will praise his virtues and forgive his mistakes. Nearly everything he might do to try and flunk will earn him extra credit. He cannot last against their willpower for thirty years."

"About the only way out for him, Kuririn, is if someone else takes on the apprenticeship as well." Chaozu was laying some items around the arena. "Any number of creatures can train for the position but only one can be the Guardian. So if he were to gain a rival..."

Kuririn knew that he had dodged the question once and knew that now, there was no dodging it. He knew that he should feel honored but felt trapped, overwhelmed and anxious instead. He had felt responsible for the whole world - and also for planet Namek - more than once in the past. It was an ugly feeling. It always left him kind of hollow. He didn't feel qualified to defend the Earth, much less watch over it.

And... What would happen... If Kuririn took the job and got purged of HIS own evil? That answer didn't take much imagination. Kuririn already had the power to do some serious damage to Earth. So his evil side would have that kind of power as well and his evil side would not hesitate to use that power. Kuririn shuddered. "I don't think this is a good idea." He muttered, a hand on his forehead as if trying to block out the nightmares unfolding in his brain. Not wanting to dwell on this topic, he pressed onward. "Uhm. You said there were three reasons?"

The items that Chaozu was placing around the arena looked like fridge magnets. They weren't but that's what they looked like. They were small and mostly rectangular. "Yes. Reason three..." Chaozu took a capsule out of the satchel and tossed it down. A stack of books and folders appeared. "There's everything that Ten-san took from you. I promised I'd get them back, so there you are. We have our own copies now. I've learned a few things. I would hate to have to use them. That's a good reason to avoid a fight with me, isn't it?"

Kuririn avoided asking which things Chaozu had learned but had the sickening suspicion that the Perfectly Evil Dodonpa was a likely candidate. And against that attack... Even the perfection of Scatter Shot that Kuririn had been so proud of inventing a few days ago, at Ox Kings castle... It would take too long, to power up. Feeling as if the blood in his veins had turned to snow from all the recent news, Kuririn rubbed his arms. He took a step towards the edge of the arena and was unable to leave the circle. "I'm still trapped...?" He made the statement a question, hoping it was a simple oversight.

Chaozu exchanged a glance with the witch. Then he returned his attention the fridge-magnet looking items, rearranging them with telekinesis. "We can purge your evil now, if you want."

"Defeat your own dark side." Madame Baba rolled back her sleeves. "Then you can leave."

Kuririn had to sit down for a few moments. They really weren't going to let him avoid this. Why did they want HIM to be the guardian? Why should he even try? He wasn't sure if it was a job that he could handle. And he didn't know if this was a battle that he had the strength for, physically or otherwise. But... His evil side, if it was released here, would be trapped in the arena with him. So he'd have the chance to fight, it couldn't just ignore him. And even if it escaped the arena... Two of the worlds most dangerous mortal psychics were prepared to deal with it. And if, somehow, his evil side could survive that... Then Gohan would probably crush it by accident. Someone would, anyway.

"This is going to hurt, isn't it?" Kuririn watched as the not-fridge-magnets were levitated into another complex design. What did it mean? Being anxious, he started to ramble - hoping to stall. "And I'm not that evil, right? But, I mean, maybe a little evil is normal and healthly because... I mean, how could a warrior be pure good? It doesn't make sense! No sane person would want to stand around threatening to kill their enemies. No purely good creature would even like violence, right? So... Am I even going to want to be a martial artist anymore, if we do this? What if the Earth needs to be defended again? What kind of futures have you seen, that I could be allowed to retire? I mean that would be wonderful - don't get me wrong! If the world goes all peaceful, that's great. Overdue. But... You know, maybe we shouldn't..."

Madame Baba uttered a statement in a language even older than herself.

Rows of symbols began traveling up Kuririns arms. The writing wrapped all the way around each arm with the symbols in black and red and silver - as if he'd just gotten a sleeve-length tattoo of an entire multi-versed prayer. Was it a prayer? The symbols faded into his skin before he could try to read them. He hadn't recognized the language they were written in. The symbols hadn't hurt but there was a certain energy to them.

It was enough energy to be detected beyond the force field.

Piccolo must have noticed, he was coming towards the oasis now. Gohan... wasn't. Maybe the poor kid was still laughing? Yamucha... Where had the bandits energy gone to?

That question got answered quickly. The triumphant bandit arrived, flying but without his power up. There was a tiny disgruntled cat perched on his shoulder and a struggling little triclops held firmly under one arm. Yamucha looked at the arena and became concerned. "What's going on?"

**ooxoo**

**N**ow...

Ranshin had the kind of headache that, if given weight, she could have used to anchor a cruise ship. Or perhaps an entire fleet. The energy of the people around her... And the energy of the location... She had never experienced anything like this, not even at the Son House. Not even that one time, at Sensei Jitsugens dojo, when the sky had gone dark during the day and a huge monster had hung in the sky. Ranshin was looking at the world in colors that didn't exist. The overload was just that bad. She didn't notice when the bandit put her down.

Someone dumped something over her shoulder.

"You have really got to work on shielding your mind." Said the pale warrior. There was an almost parental tone laced into his words, it seemed to promise to lecture her later. There was an implied threat as well that told her that escape was no longer an option. The pale warrior left her on the ground and hovered. Returning his attention to the other adults. The pale warrior didn't look like an adult but he had the energy of one and the other adults seemed to accept him as such. They were having a heated discussion that Ranshin didn't comprehend because she had been hallucinating when it started.

Ranshin looked down at the satchel that had been draped over her shoulder. How was this bag helping her? She didn't understand but she could concentrate again. She looked at the pale warrior and noticed his oversized hat. Was the hat doing the same thing for him that the satchel was now doing for her? Hrm.

She looked around her. She saw the bandit. The bandit kind of ticked her off. He did not have terrible energy but he did have an annoying amount of energy and the main thing was that he'd learned to fly without powering up. So he'd snuck up on her. Ranshin had accidentally taught him that trick. Was that cheating? Or was that how these warriors worked? Maybe this was how they'd become so strong. By learning from each other and anyone else that they could. Maybe that wasn't cheating, maybe that was survival. Ranshin had already done the same thing. She had learned the trick of undetectable flight from watching Shirley. And so... If she really wanted to continue getting stronger... Then she was probably going to have to learn from these people, as well. Wasn't she?

_Know thy enemy..._ Ranshin thought and then realized that she had just mentally quoted a nine year old. Words, the leader of the children from East Capital. The boy who had a crush on her sister. What did he know, about enemies? Had he ever been in a real fight? Ranshin was only five but, out of respect to Shirley, she had accepted the nine year olds authority and she didn't accept authority from many creatures. Maybe she should have argued with him more and pointed out these flaws. _Why am I only thinking of this NOW?_

Right about here, Ranshin noticed the ghosts.

These... Were not typical ghosts. Ghosts were all kinds of shapes and sizes, Ranshin knew. She had seen them before. Human spirits often took on human shapes. Sometimes, human spirits chose other shapes. The Crane Master had haunted her in the form of a red crane for a while, she felt. But these ghosts, here... Were all the same. They were round and bright white. They had simple faces and wore tasseled hats. These spirits... _Am I the only one seeing them?_

She wasn't. Ranshin didn't know where the feeling had come from but it came with certainty. The round ghosts were visible to everyone. And they had never been human, these spirits. She felt that in an instant. How strange. What kind of ghosts were these?

Her eyes were drawn, slowly but surely, to a person so small that Ranshin wondered if it was an adult. Maybe it was a child? A child dressed in black and standing on a... _Oh._ Ranshin looked from the crystal ball to the ghosts. They were the same shape and size. _Oh... _Ranshin did not know much about magic but she was abruptly filled with the harrowing knowledge that trying to reverse any of the energy in this place would probably destroy the world. A root in the back of her brain grew a little more. Shugendo, it whispered but only subconsciously.

A green warrior arrived at the oasis. He'd been flying and he landed. Then another green warrior, wearing robes, just appeared. The debate among the adults grew. The bandit sounded the most upset. The noseless warrior was standing apart from the others and didn't seem able to find his voice. There was an energy that seemed to tie him to the ground - it would let him move but Ranshin could see the circular barrier. With the power that he had, he was trapped?! That was not a happy thought. How strong would she have to become, to avoid traps like this?

Shugendo, some level of her brain insisted but it wasn't a level that she was paying attention to.

The child in black stood on the crystal ball, hovered on the other side of a circular arena and said nothing. Ranshin saw the head lift, the wide brim of a pointy hat tilting upward until dark eyes pierced her. Ranshin held the gaze but flinched. The head turned, an arm draped in a wide black sleeve was extended. With a gesture from a little yellowish hand, the warrior in the arena screamed.

A blob with terrible energy peeled away from him.

Ranshin could read energy right now but not minds. She could see the crystal ball ghosts but not regular ghosts. She could see the barrier but no way to reverse it without risking the planet. She could see the blob but to her, it was just a blob. She became aware that everyone else was seeing it with a shape.

The bandit and the green warrior both attacked the barrier. The green warrior in robes told them it was pointless. The pale warrior said that it was dangerous. The noseless warrior inside the arena was terrified but powered up. The struggle began. Ranshin caught the name Freezia which she recognized only because she'd had some of the glowing boys memories inflicted on her.

"Kuririn!" Shouted the tiny bristling cat perched on the bandits shoulder. "It can only take the shape that you let it! They're your fears - give them a shape that you can defeat!"

"Listen to the cat!" The pale warrior encouraged.

The blob turned to something that made both of the green warriors jump backwards. Ranshin overheard the name Daimio and just had no clue what that meant. The warriors outside the arena were reduced to a cheering section but they didn't cheer much, since their collective inability to participate in the fight was frustrating and worrying them and the shapes of the evil memories were not bringing back good thoughts for them. The green warrior in robes tried to speak to the child in black, who didn't appear to listen.

It was just a blob of violent energy, from where Ranshin stood... But the warriors around her saw it take more than one shape. It was a Freezia. It was a Daimio. It was a vampire. It became someone called Goku - another name that Ranshin had heard and she even knew who that was - but she didn't see Goku here. She saw a blob. Everything that the noseless warrior had ever feared, the blob was apparently taking those shapes and distorting them. The warrior struck the blob and it changed again. He hesitated and it struck back. The battle was taking place at a speed that made it hard to follow. Ranshin didn't understand why this was happening.

Then, the blob took a shape that stopped the noseless warrior in his tracks. He'd hesitated, tried to escape, defended, gotten angry and attacked in all of the preceding struggles but now... He just froze in place. There was a murmur of the name Shirley. The green warrior in robes wanted to know who that was. The bandit tried to explain. The green warrior with the cape tried to attack the arena again.

Ranshin didn't see it. She saw a blob. The blob was imitating her sister? Why? Shirley was strong and could reverse attacks but this was ridiculous. If the noseless warrior could defeat all these other monsters then why couldn't he defeat a false Shirley? He had the power. Why did he not want to use it?

_Maybe it takes more power, not to use the power..._ Ranshin shook this thought away and frowned. Not fighting was just not an option, the noseless warrior was going to get attacked and beaten down by a blob. If he couldn't defeat it then who would? Glowing boy wasn't here. And Ranshin could not just stand by and let some ugly blob impersonate her sister.

How to help, then?

If Ranshin powered up, the other warriors would probably stomp her. Heck, the tiny cat might stomp her. That creature was more dangerous than it looked! If she powered _down_...

A wandering crystal ball ghost brushed the far edge of the barrier. Ranshin saw it, understood what she'd seen, did a rapid series of subconscious math and was inside the arena before anyone could stop her. And as soon as she was inside the arena, the full force of the noseless warriors energy hit her like a wave. Instead of sinking or being washed away, Ranshin surfed it. She wasn't even sure how. She was feeling the violent energy off the blob now as well and that just made her more angry. And then the heartbeat, embedded into the warriors aura...

The heartbeat! The blob shared the warriors heartbeat! She could try to attack the...

Outside the arena, the pale warrior and the child in black exchanged another significant glance. A yellowed hand was waved and the blob faded. The barrier fell away.

The warriors stood in muted terror and confusion that swiftly became noisy with questions and accusations. The child in black cackled, dropped something and vanished. The pale warrior hovered. He used telekinesis to swiftly collect the item that the child in black had dropped. He muttered an apology and then raised two fingers to his forehead. The landscape went a dazzling white. Ranshin saw some rectangular shapes in the dazzling white, as if someone had used a bunch of fridge magnets to build a mosaic. The rectangles gave off a soothing energy that, if she had not been holding the satchel... Ranshin wasn't sure. What were the rectangles doing to the others? She couldn't see them and was blocked from reading their minds. This all happened within the space of seconds.

Then, even as the blinding light began to fade, Ranshin felt a small hand grab her arm and was dragged away at high speeds through the air.

As she was departing in this fashion, feeling quite drained all the sudden while her heart recovered its own rhythm, Ranshin heard in her mind more than in her ears a voice that she'd encountered once in the wild. But it wasn't speaking to her, this time. It said: _Welcome to the apprenticeship, Kuririn._

**ooxoo**


	31. Rebels: November 29th, 763 AD

_**Eclipse**_

**by DoraMouse**

**ooxoo**

**Rebels: November 29th, 763 A.D.**

**W**hen your own problems are completely and utterly beyond reason, it helps to be able to focus on someone elses problems.

They were at the Lookout. Kuririn had been sworn in as an apprentice, he wore a formal robe now. This was not the change of clothes he'd been hoping for. He got dizzy if he tried to understand recent events. In time, perhaps, he would be able to sort it out and possibly even find humor in what had happened. Right now, it all struck too close. Was he truly purged of evil? He felt lightheaded, was that what being pure good was supposed to feel like?

He focused on the bandit, who was wide awake but sitting in a sleeping bag nearby and trying not be miserable.

Yamucha had taken the question. He had said no. He had also used his existing professional baseball contract as evidence of a prior and legally binding commitment.

"I can't believe that you gave up a chance to become god just to play baseball. You're as bad as Goku!" Kuririn grumbled, fidgeting with the robes. The fabric was all embrodiered. He'd never been this dressed up before. He thought for a moment of Goku and wondered how the Saiyan might react to the news that Kuririn was training to become the local god. _He'd probably be happy for me. Right after he stopped asking us if we were kidding._

"Baseball has been good to me." Yamucha sounded defensive, he wished the sleeping bag was enough to ward off the cooler climate of the Lookout. There was something else on his mind but he didn't want to talk about it. Or maybe he just didn't know what to say.

Kuririn was a sports fan, he didn't always get to watch the games but he followed the news when he could. Especially when it came to this professional. Because Kuririn had been entertaining the notion of a sports career for a while, before hearing of the troubles that his friend encountered. "Didn't you say that the league fined you for flying that one time?"

"That was an accident on my part." Yamucha retorted, glad to have a conversation about something halfway normal. "And it was unsportsmanlike, I guess. I mean, none of the other players can fly to catch..."

"And they haven't let you play outfield since, have they? They don't even let you run anymore! You're just a hitter now."

Yamucha was protesting some of these restrictions. Or at least he would continue to protest them, once he was able to go back to work. He liked playing outfield. He could throw farther than anyone else on the team and that wasn't a supernatural power. It made sense to have him in the outfield. But he did understand about the pinch-runner. "Kuririn, if I get on base in a game then I can steal a homerun before the pitcher has a chance to throw again. Even if there are other players on the other bases, I could pick them up and we'd all make it in. And the whole point of the game is to score runs so Coach wouldn't tell me not to do all that but... It's just not fair to the other team if I..."

"But you're a bandit! Why do you care so much about fairness?!" Kuririn caught his breath, mentally kicked himself and sighed. "Sorry. I say the most idiotic things sometimes."

"Yea. We all have our moments, don't we?" Yamucha was speaking to Kuririn but was looking, now, at another friend. This was the reason he hadn't left the Lookout.

"..." Puar was wearing a tunic. It appeared as if someone had taken one of the worlds most beautiful silk hankerchiefs and carefully cut a diamond in the center. The tiny cat floated, clearly distraught. Her blue-grey fur was groomed to the point where it might start falling out if she didn't quit expressing her worry with a hairbrush. She stared at them for a moment and then burst into tears.

Two days ago, she had arrived on the Lookout. She had hovered by Yamucha when he turned down the offer to train for the guardianship and she had watched Kuririn get sworn in. And then she'd seen that Oolong was already sworn in. And anything that the pig could do, she could better. And so after blurting out a remark to that effect - Puar was an apprentice now, too.

She darted to her friend, clung to his arm and sobbed. Puar did not want to become an immortal because to her mind that meant she would have to outlive Yamucha. Again. And once had been hard enough. No, Puar didn't want to outlive any of her friends or relatives. And she didn't want to wear formal robes. She wasn't accustomed to having to wear clothes at all. Clothes messed up her fur. The very notion of having to wear a robe for hundreds of years... Puar bristled. And she didn't want to live in isolation, on an island in the sky. Puar just wanted to go home to West Capital City. She wanted to supervise the repairs on their mansion. She wanted to be able to date other cats and go to watch baseball games and maybe study law and...

Yamucha was at a loss for how to make her feel better. Most little sisters couldn't be gently scratched behind the ears at a time like this but he settled for that. He threw a look at Kuririn. It was a: 'You've got to do better than her, at least, please. So that she doesn't have to stay here forever.' Puars misery was making her friend miserable too.

_But I don't really want the job, either... _Kuririn squirmed, wishing that he had a plan. _And I'm pretty sure that we can't ALL flunk..._

Three apprentices... Kami was determined to retire in a month. Once Kami left, Mister Popo would be in charge of the rest of their training. Kuririn had trained at the Lookout before but he had no illusions. This was not going to be easy. Was it? No. Why should the training for the future local god be easier than the training for warriors defending the planet? But if it was harder... Would either of the shapeshifters stand a chance?

"How is Oolong doing?" Kuririn ventured, trying to give the tiny cat a handle on her grief by raising the topic.

Oolong had been nervously relieved to watch Kuririn being sworn in. "Thanks for coming to my rescue, you're not gonna have to kill me right?" But Puar being sworn in had caused the pig to try and jump off the Lookout. "I can't spend thirty years around HER!"

Thirty years...

_I'm the oldest apprentice and I'm twenty-seven. In thirty years..._ There was that hollow feeling again. _I'm going to be almost sixty before they even decide if I should be the god?_ Kuririn could not imagine spending that much time training. That was his whole life over and then some. And that was just for a chance to START the job, which might last for hundreds of years. And that was only one of the early indications that training for the guardianship was not going to be like anything that he'd ever taken on before. Had Kami endured all of this? Kuririns respect for the Guardian increased. But thirty years... _Oolong and Puar will both be in their mid-fifties by then. I am stronger than them right now but they don't physically age... What if...?_

Kuririn tried not to imagine what he might look like when old.

He was beginning to understand why Goku had said no to this training. He remembered the 23rd Budoukai. ChiChi had proposed to Goku on that day so Goku had used the marriage as an excuse to tell Kami no. But maybe Goku would have said no to becoming the Guardian even if wedding bells hadn't been in his future. Perhaps Goku had truly known what he was doing. Goku may not have been the smartest kid but he DID know about training. Kuririn felt doomed. Goku, who had trained with Korin and Kami before anyone else of their generation. Goku, the warrior who would train even when dead. The Current World Champion. The guy who had let so many enemies escape simply because he wanted to fight them again someday. HE had been offered this training and HE had said no. _And here am I, signed up for it. _Kuririn shivered.

Thirty years. Goku had been age nineteen back when Kami had asked him. If Goku had said yes and had started the apprenticeship training right away... _He'd still be an apprentice. He wouldn't even be half finished by now. _Kuririn felt the dizziness getting the better of him. _And Gohan wouldn't exist._

Kuririn made a mental note to hug ChiChi the next time he saw her. The woman couldn't know it but she had probably saved the world a few times just by proposing to her husband and having her son.

"The pig," Puar hissed, her fur puffing out as she rubbed her eyes. It was all the pigs fault that she was in this mess! "keeps trying to get Piccolo to kill him. I offered to help but he ran away." She took a deep breath and let it out, her tail twitching with anxiety. Her voice found some neutral ground between fear and anger. She looked at Kuririn, who was pulling himself away from the brink of a nervous breakdown. Puar recognized this because she was about there herself. "Kami said that we would begin our training starting tomorrow..."

Kami wanted to retire. So Kami was going to train the apprentices first. But Kami was not on the Lookout right now because he'd taken a walk in the afterlife. Kami wanted to try and find the witch and get some answers from her. Well... No. That wasn't quite it. Kami already knew the answers, it seemed. Master Roshi seemed to know at least some of the answers as well. What were the questions? None of the apprentices were sure. Neither Kami nor Roshi were talking about the subject. But Kami wanted to speak to the witch, anyway. He'd been very concerned about something. So Kami had gone to the afterlife because that's where the witch was. She was a mortal creature, a living person - but she could get to the afterlife without having to die. All by herself, the witch could make gods worry. That was the only reason the formal apprentice training hadn't already begun.

And if Kami wasn't back on the Lookout by tomorrow...

How far away was that? Did the apprentices have hours or minutes? The Lookout was in a low Earth orbit, just close enough to outer space to not have regular daylight. It was hard to keep track of time up here.

But if Kami wasn't back by tomorrow then the training would begin anyway. Mister Popo would give them an orientation. Then the apprentices would begin to train with Korin. And they would not be permitted to resume training with Mister Popo until each of them had defeated Korin.

Oolong was the most frightened. The pig had never done any formal martial arts, not really. He'd sparred a bit with Roshi now and then but that had never been serious. Puar had sparred with Yamucha a few times and had watched her friend train against Korin, all those years ago. So the tiny cat had some idea of what to expect but she disliked the idea of fighting. She wanted to know: why did the guardian have to be a warrior? It was a good question. No one had answered it yet. Kuririn wasn't threatened by the prospect of training with the immortal white cat. He'd trained with and defeated Korin more than eleven years ago, his strength had grown exponentially since then. But... His mind returned to an unnerving idea. What if Korin had also spent the last eleven or so years training? What if this time, the training was harder? Korin had only used martial arts when training the Earths defenders but Korin knew magic. Would he use magic against them this time? As apprentices to the guardianship, they were probably going to have to learn to defend themselves against spellcasters.

Kuririn had power. That wasn't a guaranteed defense against magic. How was he supposed to help the shapeshifters if he wasn't sure that he would be able to defend himself?

Recent trauma and self-doubt stirred within Kuririn. Try as he might, he couldn't totally put off dealing with everything that had happened. Or at least the parts that he remembered. The witch - what had her intentions been? Why couldn't she have just explained? And Chaozu... Why had he even been there? Kuririn had agreed not to ask but he still wanted to know. Honestly, if he made it to being the local god then he was going to demand some answers. There were going to be some changes.

_Wait. Did I just think that?_ Kuririns head swam. If he didn't really want to BE the local god then why was he trying to imagine the changes that he'd make once he was? He let his mind slip back to the battle, which was disturbing but made sense. Well. It made sense in that it was on his mind because it had taken place - he hadn't begun to make sense of the battle. And he didn't want to even try to make sense of his feelings for the guardianship right now. Yes, he'd been thinking of getting a job. But not THIS job.

The battle... There was so much about it that confused him. Kuririn had somehow - how? - found the courage to defeat all of the opponents who had ever haunted his nightmares, including an evil version of Goku. That had been...beyond...difficult. Purged of all evil? Really? Kami had been over the age of three hundred when he had been purged, it was kind of understandable that a lot of evil could build up inside a creature over hundreds of years. But Kuririn was not hundreds of years old. He was twenty-seven and he'd been raised by monks. Where had all the evilness come from?! Was it just from living around perverts? But the gods liked Master Roshi! Was it normal, for humans to have so much evil? No. It probably wasn't. Kuririn wasn't normal, anyway. He was pretty sure that he was human but normal, he knew better. He was transformed. His limits hadn't been normal to begin with and now he was transformed.

Kuririn wasn't sure why but he'd expected for his evil incarnate side to look... More like him. Well. Okay, he did know why. Daimio, the evil incarnate side of Kami, had looked similar to Kami. So Kuririn had been prepared - and he used that word loosely because he hadn't been well prepared - to battle against himself. A version of himself, maybe something even shorter than him and with glowing red eyes. Not a sadistic parade of every monster and warrior that had ever seriously threatened his life. And... He'd been unable to bring himself to attack the little girl at the end of that parade. Even though he had known that it wasn't really Shirley but just another illusion. And if he could defend himself and attack even a version of Goku then why...?

_She has never seriously threatened my life. _Kuririn admitted. _Goku has. Never directly but..._

The fear of Goku gone evil was fueled, at least in part, by the reality of Goku almost being too late to save the day and also by the memories of Goku not taking a dangerous opponent seriously. Considering some of these tactics it was kind of strange that Goku was still considered pure of heart. Why? Just because Goku didn't want to kill things? Was that all it took? Kuririn had never enjoyed killing.

Somewhere deep down, a mental checklist added 'find out what it takes to be considered pure of heart' to Kuririns to-do list. Would he have to become a god to understand that? Or was he pure of heart already? He HAD been purged of his evil, supposively.

He thought of Shirley. If he became the god... And if Kami retired and then became mortal and died, or did anything else that might effect Piccolos health... Then who would take care of the kid? Were gods allowed to be parents?

Thirty years. The idea was like being slapped with a cold wet towel. It stung and startled him every time. By the end of the apprentice training... If Kuririn didn't flunk or die before then... Shirley would not be a kid, anymore. She would be thirty-nine. Maybe forty. An adult. He'd already missed the first nine years of her life. She had survived. Maybe she could continue to survive, even without a parent but... It just broke his heart to think of it.

He hated her but only because she didn't seem to like him. He really wished that she'd liked him. Kuririn felt responsible for her. Maybe Shirley would get a better attitude if she had someone there to guide her and patiently teach her some manners. That was the type of thing he'd needed as a child and he had gotten it, from martial arts training.

What was more important? Guarding the world or taking care of the kid?

The kid.

The choice was the easiest that Kuririn had ever made. He surprised himself by making it. But his brain abruptly dropped all the confusing and scary battles to highlight something else, a different theme in the memories of his life. Goku had been so naive, when they'd first met. Very strong but really in need of some help when it came to understanding the world at large. Kuririn had looked out for him. He had felt responsible for Goku. He still kind of did. He'd felt responsible for Gohan as well. And for Dende. And sometimes for Oolong. Kuririn felt half parental towards Yamucha, who was older than him but who lacked the support of a human family. He'd nagged at Master Roshi about his manners, even. He might have taken up nagging at Vegeta, if Vegeta was still on Earth. He had already taken up nagging at Piccolo once in a while.

It was all Lunchs fault, he realized. Because she had trained him, in her own way. Kuririn had done her chores when she was off robbing trains or something. He'd helped out even when she was there. When Lunch had left the Kame House completely... Kuririn had become the maid and chef, in her place. So he'd done nearly everything that he had seen her do - except for the bit about sneezing and pulling guns out of thin air. Most of the time, at the house, she had been stuck with the dark blue hair. And when she was stuck with the dark blue hair... Lunch had treated everyone like they were her kids. So that was what he'd mimicked.

I_'ve been acting like a parent since I was thirteen and half._ Kuririn suddenly wondered why he'd ever doubted that he could be a decent parent. _I can do this. _He stared at the formal robes with renewed dismay. _I have got to find a way out of this. Kami-sama, forgive me but..._

"Puar!"

She had gone back to sobbing and was leaving a puddle on Yamuchas shoulder. The bandit looked as if he would rather be anywhere else in the galaxy, even if it was colder there. He clearly had no idea how to be the protective big brother of a potential future god.

"What?" Puar sniffed, her dark oval eyes bleary.

"I don't want to live in isolation either!" Kuririn managed, and he noticed the surprise. So Yamucha and Puar had thought that he was good guardian material - that was nice. He didn't want the job but it was nice. "I don't think we can all flunk."

Leaving was not an option. Kami could detect energy and teleport. So could Mister Popo. Korin knew magic. Madame Baba knew more magic. Oolong had already tried to escape and had discovered that being an apprentice meant being bound to the Lookout. Instead of falling off, the pig had ended up standing on the underside of the metal island, looking down at Earth. This had not been a good experience for Oolong with his fear of heights. Kuririn thought it was probably the same kind of trap that had bound him to the witchs arena. He didn't know how to break the barrier. He didn't remember that someone else had broken the barrier. And even if the apprentices did escape the bond, they'd be caught. So they were stuck with the prospect of training now. If the apprentices tried to do an awful job, they'd just mess up the planet. If they did a good job then they risked getting the job.

_We have to outwit the gods..._ Kuririn had the feeling that it might take thirty years to do that. But he did have two shapeshifters to help. Perhaps they could convince Kami to stay? They only had a month, if they were going to try to do that.

Puar thought about their options for a long time and then hesitantly stood up on her friends shoulder, shifted her front paws into large pillows, covered Yamuchas ears with them and spoke very softly. "What about Bulma?"

Kuririn fell over. _Okay... It might not take us thirty years..._

"I had to live with her!" Puar hissed quickly. "She gets so absorbed in her projects, I don't think the isolation would bother her. Her parents are workaholics too so maybe they wouldn't miss her tons. And she's always ranting about how great she thinks she is and how much power and influence she has. She wants to make a difference to the world, right? Has anyone even asked if she wants to be the next guardian? I bet she'd take the job."

There was level of depth to Puars decision. Her words were sincere - Bulma did seem a good fit - but the cats voice also added an agenda. Puar gave the idea that she was kind hoping that Bulma might just drive the gods insane. Because Bulma was far more accustomed to giving orders than taking them, Puar knew. So if anyone tried to tell the genius how to be a goddess... The resulting violent argument would be a good cue for the other apprentices to try and find a way through the barrier.

Yamucha was not completely deafened by the pillows and kind of wished that he had been. He tried to pretend as if he hadn't heard the plan or noticed Kuririns reaction to it but his energy reflected his change of mood.

Kuririn noticed and was aware of his own energy going through some turbulence. He returned to his feet, wishing that he could just go home and promising himself that he'd become a hermit - could hermits be parents? - if he lived through this. He didn't have the highest opinion of Bulma but he also felt it was kind of wrong to mislead her. And how was she supposed to survive the training? Out loud, Kuririn whispered, "Oolong will never go for this..."

Bulma and the pig were not on good terms. It had something to do with their adventures together fourteen years ago. Kuririn wasn't sure what had gone on. Oolong had only ever smirked about it. Some kind of degrading prank, probably. Apparently Bulma had never forgiven the pig.

"Doesn't matter. Kami and Bulma are the only ones who have to go for this." Puar allowed her paws to return to their natural shape and sat on her friends shoulder, looking innocent but radiating determination.

Leaving was not an option. Kami was in the afterlife. Training would begin tomorrow and because the Lookout was in orbit it was hard to be sure how close they were to that new day beginning. If they were going to get Bulma on board as an apprentice, they had to act fast. Someone had to go get her and bring her to the Lookout. But if Kuririn, Puar and Oolong couldn't leave... Mister Popo wasn't going to leave. Master Roshi couldn't fly but he had already left the Lookout anyway. Kami had given him a teleport home, so that Roshi could put away all the recovered books and folders about energy combat. And Piccolo wasn't going to want to go within a hundred miles of the woman who had slapped a trap device on him. So that left just one person.

_Oh man..._ Kuririn hated to even think of asking the bandit. He knew that this would have to rank as near betrayal of a good friend. They were going to have to make it up to the guy. Because they were also going to have to ask him. There was nobody else at the Lookout who could do this, unfortunately. And the bandit did already know Capsule Corps address.

The bandit hated to be asked. But then Puar used her sad kitten eyes and what kind of protective big brother could say no to those?

**ooxoo**

**G**ohan dreamed.

There were dreams about scary monsters and battles. Those were the most frequent. He would struggle and scream and watch his friends get turned inside out. He felt useless. He would die. The dream rolled on, regardless but changed its texture. Sometimes the battles would repeat but now they seemed funny. Sometimes the images would get all confused. Sometimes the dream made no sense. Kuririn would be dressed like a doctor and trying to save the world from a field of flowers or something. Piccolo took up playing the flute during battle and if there was a waterfall around then this caused the fish to launch energy attacks. Vegeta and Freezia hugged like old friends and danced off into the sunset. That kind of thing. And stranger.

Gohan would watch all this as if it were a film and subconsciously wonder about how many blows to the head he'd taken. He often woke up with a headache, afterwards.

Most of the time, he could wake up and forget the dreams. In fact he'd spent the first months after returning home from outer space wondering if he even dreamed at all. He didn't remember dreaming. Gohan wasn't sure if he'd done a lot of dreaming before becoming a warrior. He'd had nightmares about his uncle for a while but even those had faded. He didn't seem to have a lot of memory for dreams. Maybe Saiyans didn't dream? Maybe only his human genes were triggering this? Gohan wished that he knew more Saiyans to ask. But not really because an average three out of three Saiyans that he met had attempted to kill him. And he'd only met three, plus his father. And his father hadn't known that he was a Saiyan, so did that count?

Sometimes the dreams didn't seem like dreams. Then Gohan could remember them.

He'd felt visited, on more than one occasion. Gohan would wake up sometimes with the clear feeling that he had just seen his father. Or his mother, during the times that he'd been away from her. Which was a lot, honestly. Or Piccolo. Gohan worried, a bit, for Piccolo. Because Piccolo had an...interesting...uncle. And Gohan kind of empathized with that, after encountering Raditz. What was it with strange uncles? Poor Piccolo.

Currently however it was another Namek that was intruding on his sleep. And it wasn't just a dream.

Gohan answered a green telephone that was ringing in his dreamscape and spoke. "Dende!"

_I'm calling at a bad time, aren't I? We've been back on our world for...uhm...you would say half a year, right_?

"Yea." Gohan knew that his friend had a different calendar. Half an Earth year was about a year and half, to the Nameks. And the Nameks were on a world with constant daylight. And the Nameks didn't need to sleep. This was why Dende didn't 'call' much. There was a lot of distance involved and it was a completely different time zone, for lack of a better phrase. Dende was polite. He hated to think that he might be calling at a bad time. But it was easier, as well, to connect with someone who was asleep. The friends had promised to keep in touch and normal means could not span the gap between worlds. His mother hadn't understood but hadn't protested, when Gohan had started to put himself to bed early about six months ago. "You can think in Namekian. I'm not out of practice yet."

Dende was grateful for this. His thoughts switched to his native language. He was getting a bit out of practice with the Earth languages. He apologized for not practicing more. Or calling more.

"It's okay. Things have been kind of weird. I don't know if you would have been able to connect." Gohan confided.

Dende seemed concerned and asked Gohan if his mother was still throwing axes at people. Dende had to switch back to Earth languages to ask this because there was no Namekian equivalent for 'mother' or 'axe'.

"She didn't mean it, you know." Gohan paused. They'd had this debate a hundred times, it had started back when Dende was still stranded on Earth. And truthfully, Gohan knew, his mother had meant it. But she hadn't know them. If his mother would have gotten to know the Nameks then she wouldn't have meant it - that's what Gohan wanted to believe and defend. But his mother had been firmly opposed to getting to know any Nameks. So for now, he gave in. "Anyway. It's been weird for other reasons. Don't worry. I'm okay. I'll just keep getting stronger, right? So how is the new planet going? Have you guys heard anything about..."

No. Dende apologized for this, too. The Nameks hadn't had any news of Freezia. Or Vegeta. Or Goku. Or any other strong warriors or evil monsters. Life on New Planet Namek was not weird, currently. It was tranquil. It was a landscape of green with a green-blue ocean and a green-yellow sky dotted by fluffy green-tinted clouds. There were some brown-red rocks and patches of brown dirt but those were being covered in plants, which were green. It was seven identical villages of white dome-shaped buildings, each village guarding a dragonball. It was around sixty Nameks passing their endless days by telling each other how strange and backwards that noisy planet called Earth had been. The Nameks could have summoned Porunga again by now but they hadn't. The Namekian warriors trained more intensely because they were afraid of new disasters arriving. Pretty much everyone else had gone back to taking care of the trees.

Five hundred years ago, violent storms had destroyed the flowering trees native to the original planet Namek. New Planet Namek had a forest of them. They were green. It was wonderful.

Dende did his best not to sound bored. He didn't want anyone to think that he wasn't grateful to be alive, because he was. He loved his family and his planet. He really did. He had just...enjoyed being on Earth, too.

"Have you been able to connect with Kuririn yet?" Gohan remembered to ask. He had spoken to Kuririn about these dream-visits and felt that as soon as Kuririn got one, the story would sound a lot more credible. Gohan wasn't sure if Piccolo wanted to be contacted but planned to eventually ask for that, as well. "He'd love to hear from you."

No. Dende was on a separate planet and from where he was, not even Gohan was easy to detect. He tried to convey that the communication between worlds was a draining effort for him. He wasn't able to manage it often.

"Keep trying."

_I'm not a warrior!_ Dende switched to Earth languages. The Namekian language had at least a thousand words that meant 'green' but it didn't have a lot to say about expressing frustration. _I don't have the same power!_

Gohan woke up. He really hated it, when the calls got cut off like that. But one of the Namekian suns had probably shifted position. Or maybe it was the tide? Or the gravity? Something about the nature of that world interfered, once in awhile, with long distance calls. Or perhaps Dende had been calling from the top of an unstable rock formation again...

He waited a while, as if hoping to be called back.

Nothing. Drat.

Oh well. It wouldn't have been easy to explain to Dende what had been going on. It might require explaining the concept of gender again. Gohan didn't like to think about that. He was six. He didn't fully understand all of it either. Why did humans need gender? Girls were annoying. And dangerous.

Dende was so lucky! A whole planet without girls! And Dende had better powers, didn't he? Healing powers. Gohan had seen all kinds of warriors, they could blow things up. What good did that do anybody? Gohan was more impressed with the ability to put things back together and he hadn't met any other healers, Dende was the only one. Saiyans were probably not allowed to be healers. Gohan felt this was unfair.

He had been sleeping a lot, lately.

Gohan kind of remembered being in a forest. And some kids, he didn't recognize most of them. And there had been something really funny going on but he wasn't sure what. And a guy with a bizarre sword had carried him... Or had that been a dream?

Why were girls dangerous again?

Gohan waited for his vision to clear and then waited for his memory to return. He was in a room. He recognized it but not right away. This wasn't his house. This wasn't his grandfathers castle. Those places didn't have neighbors. This room... Was in a building... That was in a village, on a crowded street. The buildings were close together. You could hear the neighbors, if you listened. It was an apartment.

His mother was here. Sometimes. She took care of him a lot, Gohan knew. But she seemed to know the people in this village. And they knew her, as well. Sometimes, she had carried him out to be introduced. Gohan was fairly sure that he'd met half the village. He didn't remember much about them. The older adults had pinched his cheeks or patted his head sometimes. The younger adults had hugged him. The kids had made faces at him. He'd been licked on the hand by a visiting dog.

His mothers energy had radiated pride.

Gohan had never ever detected this much energy coming off her. His mother... She wasn't on par with any warriors that flew but... It was as if he'd gone through his whole life with dark sunglasses on and had only just now taken them off to notice how bright she was.

This was his mothers old apartment. These villagers were her friends. That was what Gohan had noticed most about the introductions. Everyone had told his mother how good it was to see her. They'd asked how she was doing and where she had been. Even the dog had remarked that she had such a cute little boy who looked just like her... Which meant _him_. It was perhaps kind of stupid but Gohan had sort of forgotten that he wasn't just his fathers son. So many people compared him to his father, especially warriors. But... He WAS his mothers son, as well.

Gohan had wondered about this in recent times. He'd seen the Nameks spit out eggs and hatch their sons. He wasn't sure if humans or Saiyans did that as well. Had his father just spit out an egg? _Ewww. _Still. Gohan was now curious about how he'd been born. So he had starting asking. He was too shy to ask his parents - he had to live with them, after all and besides his father hadn't come home yet - so he'd been asking other people. His grandfather had said to ask his mother. Kuririn refused to speak on this subject. Vegeta had tried to kill him. Bulma had told him that he was just as naive as his father and had walked off, grinning. Piccolo had ignored Gohan at first and had then angrily pointed out that, being non-human, he had no idea about how humans had children and no desire to get an idea either. Everyone else had changed the subject.

But all these villagers... Were saying that he looked like his mother. So maybe she was involved in the whole process. Just as soon as he could find a library, Gohan vowed, he was going to find out. Because as great as Nameks could be, he suddenly wanted to know that he hadn't also been spit out and hatched.

He would have to ask Irene. She probably knew where the village library was.

That had been one of the first introductions and the only one that Gohan felt the need to remember. Due to the stories from his father, Gohan had known the name of his fathers best friend for years before actually meeting Kuririn. In the same way, but not so often, he'd overheard of this Irene. His mothers best friend. She lived here. It was her apartment, now. Irene had bought the apartment from his mother.

His mother loved him. And she loved his father. And she loved Grandfather Ox. But she had needed, once in a while, to pick up a phone or write a letter to this Irene. Because some things just didn't seem worth talking about to a house full of males. And now they were staying in Irenes apartment.

The women could talk for hours, often while cooking or doing laundry. They played card games and compared weapons - they both liked axes. They went to the market together to buy fresh groceries. They argued about radio stations but usually found something they could agree on. They lent each other books and had old photos of each other in albumns. They went to watch traveling acrobats give demonstrations in the village center even though you could see the village center from the apartment window. Sometimes they just walked through the village and chatted, pointing out changes in the local surroundings to each other. His mother was the main person who had been carrying him and caring for him but Irene had helped and was almost like a second mother at this point.

"Good morning, sunshine!" Irene had noticed Gohans open eyes and hollared as if she'd been waiting for the chance to say it. She promptly picked him up. These people were absolutely fearless around him. It was a tad disquieting. "You realize it's afternoon, dontcha? Ah well. Pancakes are good any time of day. You gotta try the new recipe we thought of..."

He was whisked into another room, placed in a dining chair atop a telephone book and served something that looked like it should have been a window display for a gourmet restauraunt. Irene handed him a knife, she didn't believe in chopsticks and loosely tied the tablecloth around his neck as if to replace a napkin.

"He's six, Ne-san!" ChiChi was in the kitchen. "Not two. He doesn't need a booster seat. And not the knife!"

Gohan hadn't heard his mother sounding this happy for about two years. Even when arguing, she sounded happy. Gohan also hadn't eaten better.

Irene was not a parent. Her ideas about parenting were... Well. She was the polar opposite of his mother, on most things. She was the kind of person who might let him get a tattoo or a body piercing, if he asked nicely. It was refreshing but kind of scary. Gohan hadn't quite imagined that his mothers best friend would be this way. Irene reminded him of a pirate. She didn't have a peg leg or an eye patch or a hook hand or a parrot but...

Six years... His mother had lived here, once and for as long as he'd been alive. But he hadn't been alive, back then. His mother hadn't been a mom. It was a strange thing to think about. Gohan had heard most of his fathers adventures so the concept of what his father had been doing before his birth... That was not as strange. But his mother... She was related to Grandfather Ox. She knew how to fight, a little. She'd met his father once and had entered a tournament a few years later and had then married his father. The rest of her life hadn't been mentioned very often. Because his mother had wanted to read books to him. Not tell him her own stories. Gohan tried to remember the wedding story. He didn't think his father had mentioned Irene being there.

The knife was replaced with chopsticks. The tablecloth-napkin was untied. His mother patted him on the shoulder. "Sleep well?"

"Awww..." Irene was now trying to sneak him a hatchet. "How's the kid ever gonna learn to be careful if ya don't let 'em..."

His mother intercepted the hatchet. "He's pretty careful already, Ne-san."

That was another thing, in this apartment he could do no wrong. That was refreshing and scary as well.

"Are you a pirate, Ne-san?" Gohan had been wanting to ask for days now but he hadn't been awake that much. He adopted the nickname that his mother used for Irene.

Irene laughed. Her frizzy hair was tied back with a wide headscarf. The pattern on it was not a skull and crossbones. "Whatta rascal! Didya tell 'em?"

"Uhm, no." His mother was giving him a blended look of 'how did you figure that out' and 'it's not polite to say such things' but she hadn't actually reprimanded him.

"What?! We gotta tell 'em!" Irene struck a dramatic pose. She had the build of a professional ballet dancer. If the Ginyu Force had been alive, they might have tried to recruit her. "It's a great adventure!"

His mothers energy came down a few notches in brightness, her voice went a bit uneasy and she fidgeted. "It's not _that_ great of an adventure..."

Gohan changed his mind. He was curious but he didn't want his mother to be unhappy. "You don't HAVE to tell me!"

"Oh?" Irene hesitated. She leaned in, mischievous. "Well. I thought it was a great adventure, anyway." She pulled back, folding her arms and staring at his mother with confused disappointment. Under her apron she wore a shirt with puffy sleeves and a long leather skirt. "Perhaps I was mistaken." She wandered off to another room, nonchalantly.

Silence.

"Uhm..." ChiChi was aware that sooner or later, this was going to come back to haunt her but she might as well be honest about it now. Because her son was always taking off these days so who knew when she'd ever have his attention again. At least if she told him now, maybe he'd forget by the time he was an adult. "Gohan-kun..." He was waiting and she didn't want to go into full detail. It really wasn't that great of an adventure. ChiChi lowered her voice. "This village, it's on an island. I was 13. I didn't have a vehicle and I couldn't swim here and I've never been able to fly... There was a ferry, I was on it. And then..." ChiChi let the story trail off, replaced with maternal concern at normal volume. "Hey, you've stopped eating. Are you okay? Are the pancakes bad? Ne-san, did you leave them out?"

"Arrr!" Irene bounced back into the room, ignoring the food concerns. She had put a different headscarf on, it still didn't have a skull and crossbones. No. It had a skull in front of two crossed axes. "It was a dark and stormy night!"

"It was an early afternoon ferry, Ne-san. And it wasn't stormy. There was little fog but there always is at that time of day. Did you leave the pancakes out?"

"No! They were in the fridge, like you said!" Irene put on a good-natured scowl, her hands on her hips. "Look, you want to tell the story or not? Yer killing the drama, Chi-san. Or should I say..." Irene struck another pose that would have impressed the Ginyu Force.

"You say it, I will plant an axe in your skull." ChiChi did not sound angry but she was also not kidding.

"That threat! So familiar!" Irene made a three part act of hugging ChiChi. Somewhere else, she could get an award nomination for this level of drama. "O Glorious Captain! Could it be true? Have ya returned to us at last?"

ChiChi grabbed an axe and attempted to make good on her threat.

A furious duel of multiple axes - and even a frying pan - filled the apartment, until one of the neighbors banged on a wall and asked them to keep it down. The duel became a staring contest. Irene was grinning. ChiChi cracked. The women laughed and put away their weapons, starting to clean up.

"Gohan-kun..." ChiChi pushed a strand of hair back into place behind her ears and found her child after a moment, under the table. "Your mother was a pirate."

"Best da-" Irene caught herself, "DANG pirate ever. Had half the Navy after us!" She went through the motions of what she had probably done to the Navy. Even without an axe, these were the types of motions that helped explained the current lack of a strong World Navy.

"Your grandfather knows and understands." ChiChi added. "Your father might not. I've told him but I don't think that he believed me." She smiled and held out a hand to her son, trying to coax him into the open. "It was just something that I went through as a teenager. It helped me fight a lot, so that I could prepare for the tournament and meet your father. It's okay. I'm retired now."

_Girls, _Gohan decided from under the table, _are definitely dangerous._

**ooxoo**

**E**very android had a purpose...

Android 12 stood and frowned at the sight that was spread out in front of her. She called herself Maron, these days. She looked mostly human. She had her hair - it had been blue, once - tied back in a topknot. The strands were multicolored but not in a careless way. She had measured and counted them. The colors in her hair were not mere streaks or highlights but geometric patterns. She wore tattered clothing because that seemed to be the trend among humans. All the ones that she'd seen wandering around in ruined cities and abandoned buildings, anyway. And she wanted to blend in. She wore glasses frames - no lenses, just the frames - because she wanted to. She held a long wooden stick in one hand because she'd seen a picture.

On a magazine.

There was all kinds of paper floating around in ruined cities. You'd get a page of something tucked under the rubble, a half page tangled in a shrub, a crumpled mass of pages in the dumpster... A whole book, once in a while, just left on the sidewalk or on a bench or someplace. And androids did not need to sleep. And Android 12 had been designed to gather information. So she picked things up and read them and tried to comprehend. She had read slips found in lost wallets, files taken out of abandoned drawers, instructions on boxes, recipes in cupboards, calendars tacked to the remains of crumbling walls - there was a lot to read. Humans had an infinite amount of paperwork. You could learn so much without even having to speak to people. Android 12 liked that about humans.

There was one important exception: the newspaper.

Nothing that the humans reported seemed like news to her. Maron had tried to read a newspaper once. There were funeral announcements. What was a funeral? Some kind of party? Was everyone invited? She had heard of the word but she didn't understand. She grasped that people had died but why did other people need to stand around saying 'well, I guess he's dead now'? It didn't make sense. It seemed wasteful and redundant. The dead person was too dead to care. The live people should have better things to do. And the missing person ads... So... Had these people misplaced each other? Or did they all just have poor senses of direction? Why wasn't there a central authority to keep track of everyone, if the problem was so serious? And the pages upon pages of change of address notices... Okay, so a lot of buildings were not safe to live in anymore. Why run away? Why not fix more of the buildings? Was it that hard? And why should people tell each other where they were going? Were any of these people the missing ones? Or were they printing the notices so that they could avoid being listed as missing?

Maron had not been a zombie. She was an android. She didn't breath. She had seen the dark clouds. She hadn't understood them but apparently those dark clouds were not normal weather for the planet. She had been doing research and gathering information, at the time. A short warrior had left her in a place with a large white cat and a man with a sword. The short warrior had gone to fix the weather. Maron had read about cats and had stroked this one, wondering if the short warrior had other pets. The large white cat had purred for a moment and then had said some very precise things to her. Maron didn't like cats anymore. Or men with swords.

She had still kind of liked the short warrior, against all logic. But he'd asked her to leave. So she'd left.

And the newspaper had made her dislike humans in general since then. Humans were so weak and vulnerable and badly organized! They wanted to do unproductive things like talk about dead people and get lost. It was illogical! She hadn't even read the whole newspaper, that's how disgusted she was. A mere thickness of pages, therefore, had prevented Maron from reaching the world news section and seeing a small black and white publicity photo with the caption: _Mr. Hercule Satan gets ready for another day of cleaning up the city! _and an image of the man benchpressing a forklift. A recently-adopted little girl was sitting on the hood of the vehicle and waving to the cameras.

Maron had found the magazine, though, tucked inside the newspaper. The glossy cover showed a scruffy but healthy person with a backpack, looking off into the distance and clutching a tall thin wooden walking stick. The writing around the image and the expression of this person had all suggested that the way to find inner peace was to go for a long walk outside. And inner peace was another way to say purpose, if she understood it right. Maron didn't have a high opinion of humans right now but she did want a purpose and didn't have any better ideas for how to find one.

Hence, Maron was hiking.

She had hiked for a while. Stopped. Realized where her path would ultimately take her. Turned around. Hiked away. Stopped. Realized that she had no idea where the new path might take her. Gone to a ruined town. Looked for maps. Fought off some wild animals. Scared some humans. Gotten directions, on pains of death, from a stranger. Hiked away. Found out that the stranger had lied. Gone back to the ruined town. The people weren't there anymore. Eventually...

Maron had been counting her steps. She calculated the rate of her stride. She knew how many miles she had covered and how many hours she had been walking. She had paused to count the ruins that she'd seen. And the plants. And the animals. And the clouds in the sky. And...

_Wow. _Maron looked up at the stars and could hardly believe how many of them she didn't feel like counting. Was this inner peace? It had better be. It had sure taken long enough.

She looked down, which was what she had always done before when outside in the dark. She had perfect vision - and night vision and ultra red and a few other settings - but she'd been focused on just staring ahead, for most of her existence. Just watching a target. Or traveling down a known path, towards an expected goal.

The scenary in front of her was not expected.

Beneath the stars of the night sky, a large dusty crater scarred the northern desert. The air smelled burnt. There were dips in the crater, places where the ground sunk and opened up. There were bumps in the crater. The ground was not flat. The ground had the appearance of a blanket that had been thrown over an uneven pile of bricks - but it had this appearance over a space that could have held a city in its perimeter. There was rubble sticking through the dirt. There were scattered reedy plumes of dark smoke. There were mountains looming on the far horizon but they seemed to silently deny any knowledge of what could have passed for an eruption, in the presence of a volcano.

There was a map in Marons head. The map had been programmed into her brain. It wasn't a complete map of the world and it had been outdated by recent disasters but... This crater... Should have been the Red Ribbon Headquarters. The underground labs. It had been, about a month ago. Maron had seen it. She had left it behind. Someone had detonated it since then.

Why? Had Red Ribbon abandoned the area and destroyed the facility? Had someone else targeted them? Had it been deliberate or an accident? She stared a bit longer. Deliberate. She could not guess the motives but her calculations estimated that the explosion must have been large. To have left this twisted crater, the explosion must have been very large. You didn't get explosions this large by accident, Maron concluded. Not even humans were that clumsy. And to be spread out like this, not just one or two charred areas but a whole crater... The attack must have come from within. It must have been planned. The explosions had been distributed...

Maron looked at the map in her head and could imagine where the bombs had been placed. The computer chips in her brain did not like her doing this to a map of the place she was supposed to be loyal to. She counted the imaginary bombs and calculated the forces involved to shut them up.

Her eyes scanned the crater. Had she caused this, somehow? She had walked out and now the Red Ribbon labs - the pride of Dr. Gero - was a hole in the ground, as opposed to a whole underground. The labs where she had been built and tested and activated... Her home until so recently.

Androids did not cry. But Maron was tempted.

Had Red Ribbon done this to spite her? To scare her? To prevent her from returning? On the other side of a flood of errors, there was part of Maron that understood that she'd been rash. She had made a bad decision. She never should have left. She'd only left because she had planned, someday, on being able to come back. It was logical. Red Ribbon was her destiny. Red Ribbon knew how she was put together. They could fix her, if anything went wrong. They could...

They hadn't fixed 11. Maron had done the repairs and even those weren't working.

Marons organic brain held to that fact and waited for the obedience programming to recede. The flood of errors continued but they were like static in the background. _You acted human. _She congratulated herself on blending in and switched off the guilt and sadness that had seemed so vast a moment ago. In the ruined cities Maron had seen people trying to go into places that were locked. They banged on the door and broke the windows and carved holes in the wall, if a place was locked. But if the door was open, they strolled right past it and weren't interested. So her experience just now... It was like that, Maron decided. She had wanted to return to Red Ribbon only because they weren't here anymore.

Where had they gone to? Maron didn't remember seeing a change of address notice for Red Ribbon. Maybe she would have to read another newspaper. She wasn't going to go back to Red Ribbon, of course. She would just gather some information about them. That's what she told herself.

For now... Maron had not been trying to come back here. She had been trying to walk in the opposite direction of a very specific small tropical island where a short warrior lived and as far as that went, she had succeeded. But she'd been walking and counting and there were so many things to count. Her feet - or was it her inner peace? - had brought her back to the site of the Red Ribbon labs. She didn't like being here. However, as long as she _was_ here... Androids were not wasteful.

Maron poked at the crater with her hiking stick and only proceeded when she was sure the ground was stable.

There were some people around. Most of them were dead. Maybe the explosion had been an accident? Maron frowned at the sight and then wondered why she had. She moved carefully, without making noise. She didn't need a flashlight. She didn't have detectable energy. She wasn't affected by the cold. So even the live people milling around didn't see her. They were guards, mostly. Bundled up and standing around bonfires, rubbing their hands and grumbling to each other about this assignment. They stomped their feet, exhaled small clouds and threw more fuel to the fire.

There was the glint of something metallic on the ground near them.

Maron dared to get closer. This proved a mistake. By the time she was close enough to make out the shape on the ground, she was in the firelight. The guards noticed. And the guards were armed, they had guns and daggers. But... Maron tensed. The guards were just staring at her. She had not seen human expressions like this before.

She was not aware of how she looked to these people. Maron had assumed these guards would know about androids. But there she was, this silent lady with shiny skin and visible stitches and wispy hair full of colorful geometric designs. She was holding a long wooden stick, wearing trendy tattered clothes and had chosen the same style of glasses frame that many of the Red Ribbon scientists had worn. And it was night, the darkness added to her image. And there was a breeze that came in gusts, so there were clouds of dust rolling around her. And it was too cold, for any living person without a coat to be out here. And the guards knew that the crater had human remains on, in and underneath it.

The guards screamed. They stumbled hurriedly away, tripping over each other but scrambling in the same direction. They locked themselves into a little wooden shack.

Maron resolved to look up the word 'ghost'.

She walked over to the figure on the ground and poked it with her hiking stick. Maron fought off the urge to feel sad again. There wasn't much left of this android. She recognized him, of course. Even with all the damage. His upper torso was charred and flattened and looked as bad as the ground that it had probably been pulled out of. The rest of him wasn't even here - it was just the torso and the head. He was full of holes and gashes and covered in dirt. Any clothes he'd been wearing had been burned off and so had most of his dark hair. He'd looked human when intact, like a child, but he'd never been quite human enough to blend in. Now there were loose wires and exposed guts. "Nine." She said and wondered why she'd felt the need to say it.

If 9 was gone and 10 was gone and 11 was gone... Android 12 wondered if she was the only functional android left. She did not like the way that the statistics were stacking against her, either.

The eyelids twitched and raised. Two clear ice blue eyes full of agony stared up at her and slowly blinked, with great effort, in delayed recognition. "...i wanted to die..." Nines voice was hardly above a crackled whisper, he made his complaints as if his vocal chords were brittle and his battery was run down. Which might be the state of things. "...why did they put a bomb inside me if i can't die?"

Maron had a purse. It was part of her blending-in costume. It was small and could go unnoticed because she didn't carry much in it. Just a few bits of paper, a comb and one capsule. She had learned about those from spying on Capsule Corporation, where else? And capsules were such useful things that she still found it hard to believe that a human had invented them. She had carried an empty one in her purse to remind her that humans were not all bad - they could invent some good things. And you could store anything in a capsule. Like a toolbox. Or an android case. So the empty capsule in her purse wasn't empty anymore.

There was an almost tangible air of Math around her. She glanced at the cowering guards in their shack, calculated the amount of time it would remain night and found the risks acceptable. She opened her purse and made some preparations.

Nine couldn't turn his head. "...what...are..you..."

Maron hushed him. And placed an android case on the ground beside him. And started to connect wires from him to something in the case. She was working fast.

Android Nine understood that he was being rescued. He was disappointed. He'd wanted to die. But what could he do? He was being repaired by an android. She thought of life as math, Nine did too. Telling 12 not to do whatever she was doing would be like telling humans not to breathe. You couldn't tell an android NOT to do math, that was the gist of the situation. It didn't matter if he wanted to die. 12 had found a way to add things up. The show must go on. Then a new problem came to mind. "...what...number..."

Maron hesitated. She looked at the wires. One android without a working body. One android without a working soul. Put them together and what did you get? One working android? This was not her style of math. She chewed her lip and resorted to pure numbers. _If 11 has been reduced to 0 then adding 9... _She looked at him. "You are Nine."

Nine was disappointed by that, too. He could feel the data transfer begin. It wasn't comfortable. He was going to be inside two bodies at once until the transfer was over.

**ooxoo**


	32. Fears: November 30th, 763 AD

_**Eclipse**_

**by DoraMouse**

**ooxoo**

**Fears: November 30th, 763 A.D.**

**O**olong had his eyes closed. He was clinging to Kuririn. They were standing on the bottom of the Lookout. The view from here was not something that Oolong ever wanted to see again. It gave him severe vertigo to even remember it. It was a view of straight down, as taken from Earth orbit.

Today, the apprentices were going to start training. Kuririn had experimented with attacking the barrier and could not break it. Puar had tried some things but had only messed up her fur. Mister Popo had already given them a welcoming lecture.

Normally, the Lookout traveled. It orbited. Drifting around the world so that the local god could keep tabs on everything below. Today, the holy island was parked. It had been parked for a few weeks now. It was not a solid feeling of being grounded though, the metallic island moved. It was affected by the winds and the tug of gravity. It was affected by the tug of outer space. The island creaked and rocked like a ship in rough waters. There was only one location above the Earth where it could put the breaks on - so that's where they were parked. That's what they were looking down at. Below the Lookout, the most visible thing was a wide circle of white. The top of Korins Tower loomed up through the clouds at them. It was strange because they each knew that the tower was so huge that anyone standing on the ground could not see its top clearly. Yet from here, looking down... It seemed larger still. It seemed almost close enough that a person standing on the very bottom of the Lookout - because the underside of the island was curved, a bell shape - should be able to reach out and maybe touch it. Or jump to it. So if there was a way to escape from the barrier that bound them to the Lookout... Maybe it would be located here, beneath the palace. Maybe the weak point of the force field was here. It had to be here.

"It's not here." Kuririn sounded upset.

"Are you sure?" Puar was confused and upset. She was also, Oolong knew from seeing this earlier, hovering. Rightside up. So while Oolong and Kuririn were standing with an upsidedown view of the Earth... Puar floated next to Kuririns head. She could spin her tail and propel herself upwards to the area where their feet were. Somehow, it made it worse to have her hovering as if everything was okay. Nothing was okay.

Kami hadn't made it back to the Lookout. The local god had left to have a chat in the afterlife with a witch yesterday. Kami hadn't been heard from since. Not even Piccolo was sure what was going on and he'd gone into a meditative trance to seek answers. But since Kami hadn't made it back, the three apprentices were to begin training with Korin. That was what they'd been told. How were they supposed to get to Korins Tower? They couldn't even leave the Lookout.

"This doesn't make sense." Kuririn wanted to find the weakness in the barrier. If he could learn to escape from it then nobody should be able to trap him again. He was more worried for the shapeshifters than himself but also didn't want to spend the next thirty years being an apprentice. "No technique is truly perfect. I hope."

Vampire shield, that's what Kuririn had decided to call the barrier. Attacking it just drained them and made the barrier more powerful. If they couldn't find a weak point to overload then the only way to escape might be to drain the shield. Kuririn wasn't sure how to accomplish this. It was all just theory. He stood on the underside of a holy palace and tried to stare directly across at Puar because it kept him from looking down. Oolongs fear of heights was reasonable. Kuririn had begun to share it.

The shield... Kuririn had another idea. It wasn't even a theory but a hope for one. He remembered the trap device that Bulma had invented. The vampire shield... Had to work on the same principles as the trap device. The main difference was that the shield worked from the outside and kept you stuck in a certain place but the trap device could be stuck inside you and could therefore bind you to anywhere, if a remote was handy. So Bulma was inventing things that bordered on magical or that at least should be written down in a book about energy combat. That was impressive - disturbing but impressive. Arrogant as the mechanical genius could be, if they could just get Bulma up here... She might know how to shut down the shield.

Yamucha wasn't back. Bulma was not yet an apprentice.

What could be taking so long?

ooxoo

**T**he front door of Ox Kings castle crashed open. "Happy birthday!"

Yamucha could detect energy signatures. However he could not read minds. Therefore, he was surprised.

"What, you think I'd forget?" Bulma said in the mildly defensive tone of someone who had completely forgotten. She smirked. "Ha! No such luck, buster. You're old! I'm here to rub it in!"

That part, he could believe.

Yamucha resisted the impulse to point out that Bulma was a few months older. Because he wasn't sure. He did of course HAVE a birthday - he was fairly sure of that - but... Yamucha didn't actually know when his true birthday was. He'd picked a day at random. He'd been a bored teenager in the desert. He'd sometimes made up reasons to celebrate. The day he'd picked to have as his birthday... If it was accurate then Bulma was older. He thought of her as older, anyway. Which was not something that she'd ever appreciated.

Lunch had dark blue hair and was happy for any excuse to do excessive amounts of baking. "It was last week, wasn't it? Why didn't you say anything?"

_She doesn't always remember my name and has tried to shoot me... But she remembers the day I picked._ Yamucha had trained at the Kame House. He'd seen the selective side of Lunchs insanity before. Insanity wasn't supposed to make sense, he supposed. But what Lunch remembered sometimes... And what she forgot... It was interesting, to say the least.

Somewhere in the castle corridor filled with bright balloons and paper streamers, Ox King stood. The giant was around the age of eighty and had lived alone for more than sixty years. How strange, that the once feared warrior had allowed Lunch to basically move in. The castle smelled like a pastry shop.

"Hey, come on. We've got candles to light! You're only thirty once!" Bulma had a box of matches. That was never a great omen. The things that she could invent often did more harm than good if matches were involved.

"Uhm..." Yamucha searched for a way to put the feelings into words. He didn't really celebrate his birthdays anymore. Life was busy enough, he'd grown out of the need for that. And he was currently on a mission that he was rapidly losing the nerve for. He didn't like being around Bulma. Even without matches. And what if she had another trap device? Why was she trying to be nice? What was her motive? Bulma was never nice unless she wanted something or the world was endangered. This had to be a trick. And he felt there was something else... Something that he'd wanted to tell Lunch... About a kid? But he couldn't remember what. And the world was still a mess so it didn't seem appropriate to celebrate. It wouldn't feel right to have the party without Puar around anyway. So Yamucha stepped back when the ladies each tried to grab him by an arm. He didn't want to be shot or axed or trapped or maybe even pranked. He wasn't going in there. "...no."

"But you'll get to make a wish!" Lunch enthused, all smiles.

"Yea!" Bulma had the look of someone who had reinvented the birthday candle recently. "What are you going to wish for?"

Currently there was only one thing that Yamucha wanted to wish for. He'd thought about what his life on Earth would be worth, if his ex-girlfriend became the local god. "A spaceship."

**ooxoo**

**T**here was the delicate purr of an aircar. Oolong stood upside down, his wide ears hanging past his face. Puar had large ears as well. They heard it first. But Kuririn detected it before they'd heard the sound. His energy went several different temperatures. Oolong noticed, since he was still clinging to the warrior.

What was an aircar doing up here? There was hardly even air up here. They were standing on the underside of the Lookout. This was as close to orbit as a regular creature could get without a spaceship. Oolong dared to open his eyes.

The aircar passed them without slowing down but for one moment, time seemed to bend. The vehicle had flowed and hesitated - as if wanting to make sure that it was seen. The passengers... Oolong was surprised at how much detail he had noticed. He didn't have a chance to dwell on it. Kuririn blurred, Oolong yelped and hung on. The pig knew there was a barrier that would prevent his falling but it wasn't a visible barrier, so he was still mortally afraid of being dropped from this height. Kuririn arrived back on the flat tile surface of the island. Puar followed, hovering.

The aircar rotated and landed. Korin hopped out of the drivers seat and held the passenger side door open with his stick. Twenty or so children stepped onto the Lookout and stared at the sight. They looked human. They looked young. Were these kids martial artists? They all wore fighting uniforms. They were clean and healthy and quiet but Oolong felt skeptical. They didn't seem like warriors. Maybe the kids were here to watch? Nobody had mentioned an audience.

Kuririn was shaking. He gave voice to the question they were all thinking. "They're kids?!"

"Correct." Korin smiled. He ushered the kids towards Mister Popo and Mister Popo herded them towards the palace. The kids went but only so far, they refused to go into the palace without someone. They huddled by the doorway.

"What are they doing here?!"

"Training." Korin said brightly. "And you will be training with them. As potential future guardians, you must learn to be prepared to help defend the planet from any creature - regardless of its age."

"but..."

"After all, Piccolo was only three years old when he tried to take over the world." Korin added. "And Goku was younger than that when he first arrived on Earth."

Kuririn disliked the cat for bringing up these valid examples.

Puar, on the other hand, was starting to feel optimistic. Maybe this training wouldn't be so hard! "All we have to do is beat one of them?"

"Ahem. We're trying to flunk, remember?" Oolong growled at the tiny blue-gray cat. He focused on the immortal white cat and felt the sudden need to be polite. Oolong did not consider himself a martial arts student but he knew that he was now looking at the divine patron of martial arts on Earth. "We were told that we'd be training against you, Korin-sama. We thought it would be at the Tower."

Korins feline laugh had the slightest hint of distant thunderclaps. "Apprentices to the guardianship have always completed the first half of their training here at the Lookout. And I will be honored to train each of you, should you happen to earn that privilage."

"Earn...?" Kuririn stared with increasing disbelief. He was polite but let some formalities slip. "I've beaten you before, remember? I'm not going to attack a bunch of kids just for the right to chase you again. I refuse. Let those kids go. They don't belong up here. They're not warriors."

"They want to be." Korin shrugged, he walked over to the rim of the Lookout and glanced down. "Do not underestimate them. They've been my students for a week already."

"WHAT?"

Korin twitched his ears, nose and tail - in that order. He rubbed the back of his neck with one paw and clutched the wooden walking stick with it's horn-shaped handle in his other paw. He didn't like to repeat himself. And he lived in an area with heavy magical fields, wasn't it obvious that hiding energy signatures around the tower was not a terrific feat? It wasn't as if the kids had massive amounts of power to conceal, either. He kept looking down. "Please understand, this is normal procedure." The immortal white cat turned to face them. "Train with my students. If each of you can defeat each of them, you will be a step closer to ready."

"For what?" Oolong snorted, having recovered from the need to be polite. "Opening a daycare?"

Korin smiled again. "No. For challenging my apprentice." He met Kuririns infuriated gaze. "I do not advise that you rely on past experience when dealing with him."

Puars ears flattened. Maybe this training was not going to be so easy. "Korin-sama... What you are telling us... Is that we have to defeat each of your students AND your apprentice before we can challenge you?"

"Correct." Korin did not add that no, he didn't expect them to make it that far and yes, he would be using magic if it came to that. The white cat caught a glimpse of something below. "Ah."

It did not have a detectable level of energy. It was not bathed in the light of ki. But it was, nonetheless, a dot that left the top of Korins Tower and flew straight up.

**ooxoo**

**C**apsule Coporation was the kind of place to go, if you wanted a spaceship. They had built one for Goku to travel to planet Namek in. They had built one for Vegeta to return to outer space with. The dark clouds had messed up their operations a bit - they'd lost some good employees and suppliers and materials were more expensive now but... Capsule Corp could still build a spaceship. They just couldn't afford to give it away anymore. And it might take more than five months, starting from scratch, to construct.

Bulma was surrounded by paperwork that hadn't existed a few minutes ago. She was doing the math. She loved a good challenge.

Yamucha was trying to decide if this was a wish that he'd really meant to make. He was also staying as far away from Bulma as possible, while in the same room. He was aware that Bulma would not hear him right now. If he told her that the world was ending, she'd mutter something about fuel to weight ratios. So there was no way to bring up the situation of her being needed at the Lookout without blowing something up. And blowing something up in this castle kitchen would get him axed or shot. And telling Bulma that she was needed at the Lookout had not been an appealing idea to begin with.

But... Yamucha also knew that Puar, Kuririn and Oolong were counting on him. Because none of them wanted to become gods yet all of them had agreed to become apprentices. Oolong had not been serious. Puar had spoken without thinking. Kuririn had endured some sort of traumatic purification rite, not entirely by his own choice. Oolong and Puar were eventually going to have to be purged of their evils as well. And that was a thought that was just about scary enough to rival the Bulma-becomes-a-goddess-idea.

There HAD to be another way, though. Yamucha thought he'd found one. It was simple: Gohan. Why not? Why should they ask Bulma? What about Gohan? Had anyone asked the kid if he wanted to be the guardian? They'd seen him hesitate in battle and he was only six, he couldn't be too evil. Maybe he didn't have a lot evil to be purged of yet. Maybe it would be a really good idea to catch the kid before he DID accumulate a lot of evil. Gohan had a ton of power already - if his evil side got strong, they'd never stop it. If they could catch him young... And as cruel as it might seem, to put all this on the kid... He'd be awesome, right? Who would dare to threaten the Earth if Gohan was watching over it? They'd have to be morons. If nothing else, Gohan would be the first god in recent memory to have parents. Goku was already powerful beyond comprehension and protective of the planet. ChiChi would just hack anything that tried to threaten her son to bits with an axe. So the Earth would have bonus coverage, as it were.

Ki was related to mood and Yamucha was adept at detecting it. Gohans energy was around his mothers ki and several other peoples. The demi-saiyans moods ranged from shocked to somber. So the kid wasn't laughing anymore, it seemed. Maybe it was a private reunion? The kid had been out in space for a while and ChiChi had been busy taking in other kids after the dark clouds. So maybe this was a postponed family gathering to welcome Gohan back... Yamucha didn't know but he wasn't going to interrupt.

So Yamucha was waiting at the castle. Watching Bulma draw up a spaceship. Politely avoiding Lunchs cheerful attempts to serve him birthday snacks. Because he expected ChiChi to return to her fathers castle, once the reunion that he assumed he was detecting was over. And he expected for Gohan to be with his mom.

The bandit had great love and respect and gratitude for his friends trapped at the Lookout but he hoped that they could wait. It seemed like a plan worth waiting for.

A hand the size of dinner plate tapped him on the shoulder. If he'd been an average person then Yamucha would have needed an ambulance. He wasn't, so he didn't. He turned.

It made sense for Ox King to still be at the castle, even if his family might be throwing a reunion elsewhere. The giant did not like to travel. His size and bulk meant that vehicles had to be customized for him and even then it was difficult for the guy to find a comfortable chair. And his wife... Because it was hard to be in the Ox Kings castle without being aware of the woman since pretty much all of the artwork in the castle depicted her... His wife was buried around the property. Ox King had sworn to never leave her. So far, he hadn't. He'd been guarding the gravesite for twenty-six years. ChiChi and Goku had gotten married out here, just so that Ox King would attend. Gohan might have been born out here at the castle, attended by nurses and midwifes from nearby villages, just so that Ox King could be present for that moment as well. THAT'S how rare it was for Ox King to leave. That was how much the giant had loved his lady.

Yamucha had never had a relationship like that. He was kind of in awe of the fact that such a relationship had even truly existed. Looking up at the Ox King did not make you think: 'this guy has a heart bigger than some people and a legendary but tragic love story to match.' No. What looking up at the Ox King did make you think was more along the lines of: 'this guy is past the age of eighty and he can still put an axe through a castle wall.'

The bearded giant in the horned helmet stared down. Ox Kings voice seemed too small for him - especially when he tried to whisper. "Excuse me?"

Being a former bandit, a paranoid ex-boyfriend and a somewhat harrassed sports celebrity, Yamuchas first reaction was:_ This person never speaks to me. What have I done to upset this person? _He thought about the time when ChiChi, age 12, had tried to kill him. He'd knocked her out in self-defense. But Ox King couldn't know about that. Because Yamucha would probably be wearing an axe by now, if Ox King knew about that. So... "Is this about dying in front of your grandson a year ago?" Yamucha asked, he felt bad for that. It hadn't been planned, of course but... Yamucha was eager to make amends. "I can help pay for any counseling."

"It's about her." Ox King pointed.

Yamucha looked. "Lunch?" He looked back at the giant, puzzled.

"Yes. What has our sensei told you?"

Another thing you didn't think of when you looked at Ox King was: 'this gentle, polite and lovesick giant was trained by the most infamous pervert on the planet.' Yamucha felt a pang of worry. How long had Ox King been a student of Master Roshis? Was the giant going to reveal a perverted side? Did HE like Lunch?! "Err..."

Ox King was over the age of eighty and knew the meaning of 'err...' when it was said that way. He colored a little, he was not a pervert. How could anyone even THINK such things? Master Roshis example had been a great warning about what NOT to do. Ox King had paid attention and had avoided that lifestyle. How DARE anyone even think... Ox King resisted the impulse to mangle the younger warrior - who was too strong to have been mangled anyway. Kids. You couldn't just take an axe to them like the good old days. Was it any wonder the world had so much trouble anymore? No discipline. Ox King settled for scowling. "Not THAT." He growled, sounding very close to the sort of monster he'd earned a reputation for being on the battlefield. "The guns."

Yamucha was the mental equivalent of lost at sea. Which was extra unsettling, for a former desert bandit. "...what about them?"

"That girl pulls guns out of thin air."

"Well, yes. She's always done that. We don't know why or how but she can't really help it and..."

Ox King was past the age of eighty. A person notices a few things about life, when they live for that long. Ox King had noticed one in particular over the past few days. It was bugging him. He made sure he had the younger warriors attention and then said. "Our sensei does the same thing with dirty magazines."

**ooxoo**

**S**hirley, because it was indeed her, landed. Next to Korin. At the Lookout. She had flown up from the top of the tower on her own and without being detectable. She was standing right there, straight and proud and not detectable. She glared at the apprentices and then walked past the immortal white cat, towards the waiting group of children. They cheered for her and followed her into the palace. The kids were all wearing orange fighting uniforms with a white paw print on the sleeve, one of the marks that Korin used. On Shirleys uniform... As she walked away, her back to them, there was also a second mark. It belonged to a witch. THE witch.

"Let the apprenticeship training begin." Korin smiled. He lifted his walking stick - or was it his staff, he did know magic - and rested the handle on his shoulder. He walked towards the palace, humming.

Oolong and Puar had seen Shirley before. She'd been at the castle for a little while. They hadn't gotten to know her very well because she'd been playing with - or mostly guarding, actually - the other kids. But even the shapeshifters recognized that something about the girl had changed. It wasn't energy, not that they could detect. It was attitude. And they were supposed to spar with THAT? And then with all the other kids? And then with Yajirobe? All just to get to Korin? And after Korin, Mister Popo? And after that... What? Each other? Anything that threatened the Earth?

"I guess this is why guardians have to be warriors..." Puar twitched and spun in the air, staring down at the world. Where was her big brother? She felt in need of some extra protection.

"Please. Kill me." Oolong was pleading now, the pig knelt and put his hands together. "I trust you guys to make it quick, at least."

Kuririn had not moved. His aura was still a wide range of different temperatures. His expression was locked between denial and anger. The idea of just blowing up the entire Lookout as a means to escape had occurred to him, such an action would cost a few lives but he could do it.

A tall shadow with pointy ears fell over the three apprentices - which was a bit strange, given the lack of daylight up here for creating shadows with. Must be the magical field.

Piccolo did not look well but he tried to look confident, anyway. He was not so much angry by what was happening here as traumatized by what he had seen during a recent meditative trance. His energy was conveying a level of sheer terror that made even Kuririn blink and turn towards him.

"You do not want to go to the afterlife right now. The witch..." Piccolo spoke through gritted teeth. He could not think of a comparison right away. "She can do to the afterlife in an instant what Freezia needed an army and a lifetime to do to the universe. All by herself. What the black mist did to the living, she has done to the dead. The ghost population is being reduced. The Crane Master is beyond dead. The deceased members of the Saiyan race are beyond a mass reincarnation, in case anyone was thinking of it. And that is only the start. There will probably not be any long lines for judgement the next time we die."

Oolong had remained kneeling. "...don't kill me...?" He mumbled.

Puar recovered from fear by showing concern but was so distressed by the news that she had to land, she choose to brave perching on Kuririns shoulder. "Is Kami...?"

"My uncle is alive, for now. I would not be here otherwise." Piccolo sounded like someone who expected this to change at any moment. "The dragon is able to help him, in the afterlife. Together... And with other allies, that my uncle has made... It will still take them a while, to calm the witch. Possibly more than a month. So my uncle might not be able to retire as soon as he'd hoped. And the dragonballs may not activate on schedule since the dragon is fighting."

The mental image of Shenlong, the Eternal Dragon of Earth... Being summoned into a battle... Was just enough to knock Shirley from the top of Kuririns mind. Kuririn tried to imagine the unimaginable battle currently raging in the afterlife, hated it for a moment and then paused. Wait. The eternal dragon could fight? WHY hadn't ANYONE even MENTIONED... Oh. Right. The dragonballs. It would be kind of hard to keep the artifacts a secret if the dragon started visiting Earth more often. Would be kind of hard to get wishes granted if the dragon got killed. Still. At least against Freezia, it would have been so nice to be able to just stand back and let Shenlong have an Icejin-cicle. Or even Porunga, the Eternal Dragon of Namek. He could have at least eaten the Ginyu Force!

Kuririn expressed these ideas.

"The dragon is not a warrior." Mister Popo went past, standing on his hovering magic carpet and carrying some gardening tools. He was such a neat freak. The Lookout didn't have a single speck of dust and who the heck planted gardens in low Earth orbit anyway? There wasn't regular daylight up here and they were above the clouds, there was no rain. "The dragon is a spellcaster. The version of Shenlong that you summon to Earth is diluted from his full strength - he has more power in the afterlife. If this is a topic of interest then we can speak of it later. For now, it does not matter. I suggest that you do not keep Korin waiting."

As a group, the three apprentices chose to ignore this. They were too busy thinking that, if one of them became god, Mister Popo would be their new roommate. Palacemate. Island mate. Stranded. They would be living with him. Mister Popo took care of the Lookout. They were going to be stuck for hundreds of years with a calm but dangerous warrior who kept gardens in a place where there shouldn't even be any plants and who went after dust bunnies with a tweezers and an unholy vengeance. That alone was not a pleasant image. Kuririn and Puar were both neat freaks to a degree but they were not even remotely near this degree.

"Wouldn't it be smart for us to learn more about the dragon first?" Oolong ventured, feigning the tone of a curious scholar. "If we're going to be guardians then we should learn all about the dragonballs, right?"

Mister Popo was carrying a watering can under his large turban. He removed the headgear for a moment and tended to his gardens. "No. The dragonballs will cease to be when Kami retires. You will all need to create your own artifacts. That is part of the apprenticeship." The elfin descendant looked at them with concern. "Please do not stall. The sooner you begin your training, the sooner Earth will have new artifacts."

Thirty years... And if Kami did manage to retire in a month... It would mean no more dragonballs, for the Earth. It would also mean twenty-nine years and eleven months before one of the current apprentices could present their own artifacts to fill the void. And if they stalled, they just made the wait longer.

Puar forgot where she was perching and flexed her claws. "...guys, I think we'd better go train..." She heard a hiss of mild pain and flinched. "Sorry, K-san."

Kuririn sighed. No one ever abbreviated his name unless it was REAL trouble. And it was, it really really was. He stared up at Piccolo. "Any advice? You can't draw off Kamis memory for us or anything, can you?"

"No. But I don't have to." Piccolo was staring in the direction that the kids had gone. This was not easy for him to talk about but he had to talk about it eventually and at least here, maybe the information would be of some use. Besides, he respected Kuririn. He had fought alongside the short warrior more than anyone else. Especially over the past year against the Saiyans, Freezia and Garlic Junior. Gohan had been at all of those battles too but the boy had hesitated more than once. Kuririn and Piccolo had worked together to coax the kid into defending the world. And it wasn't as if Piccolo felt inclined to be secretive right now. He was half expecting to just die and vanish at any given second, killed by way of spirit-bond. "In case you didn't notice - Gohan was my teacher as much as I was his. Kids can be dangerous. Hold back and they'll hurt you."

"Hrmph. That's helpful." Oolong clearly did not feel reassured. The pig was still kneeling, his legs had shapeshifted to jelly.

Piccolo had gotten to know his fellow warriors, mostly just by listening to them. Or to other people that talked about them. And he'd been around the others rather a lot just recently, especially at the castle. He narrowed his eyes to accusing white diamonds. "This isn't about THEM though, is it? It's about all of YOU, am I correct? From what I've heard, all of YOU have been training since you were children - so..."

This was true. Puar had graduated from the Shapeshifter Academy and wandered off to meet Yamucha and become a desert bandit by the age of seven. Oolong had been kicked out of the Shapeshifter Academy and had established himself as a feared monster in a handful of small villages by the age of nine. Kuririn... Had he ever not been training? He'd been thirteen by the time that he started studying with Master Roshi but he'd had his whole life with the monks of Orinji Temple before that.

"Try to understand. If you were frightened of books, Korin would find a way to seal you inside a library. I expect that the Guardian has to confront and overcome all of their fears." Piccolo felt a burst of respect for his uncle as he spoke what now seemed obvious and true. He hadn't thought of it in these terms before. His uncle was annoying to him only because, in some strange way, his uncle was fearless. Peaceful and unable to act as much as he wanted to sometimes but fearless. "Whatever happened to each of you in your pasts - and I don't need to know what happened, because I don't care - but those children must be here because you need to resolve it in order to move forward."

Kuririn understood, without it being added, that the gods had allowed Piccolo to train Gohan for basically the same reason. Piccolo had been born in the exact location where his father had died. Piccolo had entered a World Tournament by the age of three and had lost in the final round. So yes, the green warrior had likely had issues to resolve as well. And Piccolo was only eleven. Thus even if certain people refused to call Piccolo anything but a demon, he was a kid and he had fought with honor in the effort to spare two worlds some pain. So who knew, maybe these other kids COULD become heros with some training.

"I was always teased..." Oolong began, his voice soft.

Kuririn nodded. The hard part of fighting kids was not just the entire idea of fighting kids. That WAS hard. But it was also about ignoring what other kids had done to you, in the past. When you were a kid. Kuririn had all kinds of power these days. He hadn't, always. And he could remember what that had felt like. Not just the powerlessness of being in a battle and not knowing what to do - that was different, when you were frustrated but still had the ability to act if you could just decide how to act - but the actual powerlessness. The days before his ki had been detectable or visible. And Shirley... The girl looked a bit like him and had an energy signature similar to his - when it was detectable - but... She was a page right out of his childhood, too. A bully.

"You can hardly deny those kids the right to train when you yourselves were training at that age. Or younger." Piccolo was looking down at the world, he felt the need to revisit some places before being wiped out of existence or whatever. "And never forget, you are all under the age of thirty - correct? And you are dealing with Korin. The cat is immortal. From what I understand, Korin has claimed to be more than eight hundred years old by this worlds calendars. We are ALL kids from his point of view."

With that final thought, Piccolo left the Lookout. The barrier didn't apply to him because he was not an apprentice. The apprentices watched him leave with a level of resigned envy.

"...he's right." Puar still wished that Yamucha would arrive soon and save them but... If the apprentices all stalled... If they all flunked... If Kami died or retired... Then it would just mean a longer period without a guardian for the planet. And it wasn't right to make the whole world suffer. They were going to have to confront their fears. They were going to have to confront their ideals, as well.

Kuririn eventually picked up the terrified pig and walked towards the palace with a tiny cat perched on his shoulder. He spoke quietly and without any enthusiasm. "Let the training begin."

**ooxoo**

**A**ndroid 12, Maron, was on the ground. Screaming and kicking and maybe even trying to cry. Could androids cry? She had been right and wrong. The guards were from the World Government. They'd defined her as a ghost and had stayed the heck away from her. Most of the guards were still cowering in their shack. But Red Ribbon had agents patrolling in the area as well and those agents knew an android when they saw one. Or two. Or two and a half.

Nine was caught in the data transfer. His personality was being transferred from one android body to another. The remains of his original personality were being moved to the repaired body of the former Android 11. Nine didn't have full control over either body yet. He was on the ground in two separate places and all he could do was listen. 12 had tried to save him...

This was a feeling even worse than trying to die.

Red Ribbon agents were arguing with World Government guards. The site was Red Ribbon property, said the agents. The site was a crime scene under investigation, said the guards. We're allowed to be here, said the agents, we're going to rebuild here eventually. The guards disagreed. No you're not, the investigation isn't due to end anytime soon. Get lost. And what are you doing to that lady? We thought she was a ghost. Let her go. And why are there wires connecting that corpse to the torn up half robot thing that we pulled out of the rubble? Messing with corpses is a serious crime, you know. Who are you people? You're under arrest.

The Red Ribbon agents decided that the guards already knew too much. The guards put up a good fight but soon joined the other corpses littering the landscape of the crater.

Maron would have had a better chance. If only she didn't have an internal bomb. She had been designed as a spy, not a weapon. She could fight but didn't want to risk being detonated. She was concerned for more than herself - an explosion at this range would damage Nine as well. Both of him.

The agents were going to deactivate her. Dr. Gero had been called and had given the order, as well as the instructions and passwords. 12... They were going to shut her off. And there was nothing that Nine could do but listen. Because he was stuck transferring. So they weren't going to turn him off. Not until the transfer finished. It seemed to be taking so long... It shouldn't have taken this long. Something was wrong, with the way time was passing here. Android Nine did not know about Cell and the delayed side effects of a crashing time machine. So it didn't make sense to him.

Could androids feel afraid?

**ooxoo**


	33. Family: December 1st, 763 AD

_**Eclipse**_

**by DoraMouse**

**ooxoo**

**Family: December 1st, 763 A.D.**

**N**ames were important.

You could think of someone as being a doll or a pale warrior but you wouldn't actually call them that, would you? Ranshin wouldn't. She was more comfortable with the descriptions. They weren't as personal. It was easier to keep a distance from someone when you didn't use their name. It was easier to walk the line, between enemy and friend. She knew Gohans full name but still thought of him as the glowing boy. Between Red Ribbon, the Crane Master, the world media and the jumbled contents of Gohans brain - Ranshin knew all of the warriors by name. But they were strangers. And mostly adults. And Ranshin was not sure if they wanted to be friends. And she was not sure if she wanted to be friends with them. And it didn't seem respectful or right, somehow, to start using their names. She'd been designed to rival these people. Sensei Jitsugen hadn't trusted these warriors. The Crane Master had wanted them dead.

Especially this one.

Ranshin wasn't sure what to call the pale warrior. She knew his name however being age five, she couldn't quite pronounce it properly. The pale warrior had a longer version of his current name but that wasn't pronouncable either. He'd been called other things, in the past, but they were mostly formal titles like Your Imperial Majesty and didn't seem to apply anymore. He wasn't comfortable with the title of Sensei and neither was Ranshin, given her past record with senseis. But you couldn't just call him Mr. Pale Warrior.

"Can you pronounce Taimo?" Chaozu sighed. It had been ages since anyone had needed to use his true first name. His parents had chosen that name. It had sounded all right, in Imperial Court. His life had changed since then - and so his name had changed a few times, too. It had seemed sensible, when becoming an assassin, to make the break with his personal history in this way. "Or Reiko?" That nickname had belonged to his father so as a child he'd been addressed with it in the sense of: 'Hey, there's Reikos boy!' but only by close relatives. Because anyone else talking about an Emperor that way was forced to spend some time feeding the sharks.

After some experiments, Ranshin confirmed that she could pronounce either of these. But it still didn't seem right. She was willing to learn from the stronger warriors now - that seemed the most reasonable way to continue improving her own power - but she strongly disliked using the names. It seemed so informal! She had been raised to be a killer. She shouldn't be acting like she was old pals with an intended victim!

There is a theory that all things are connected so, somewhere out in the universe at this precise moment, a warrior named Goku was struck by a faint sensation of deja vu and since he had no idea why, he ignored it and went back to training.

Chaozu was aware of this. Vaguely.

He was more acutely aware that Madame Baba - and that was not her real name, it was just what she'd been called for the last three hundred years - was violently overhauling the afterlife and had even significantly reduced the number of Earthbound ghosts. There is a saying that a coward dies a thousand deaths but a hero only dies once. Whoever came up with that saying had never heard of the dragonballs OR of the witch. She was more than three hundred years old. Her little brother, Roshi, was close to four hundred. There was maybe a two hundred year gap between the siblings so it was an open debate as to whether they were even true blood relatives. Stranger things had happened.

Chaozu was grateful to the witch for what she was doing. Madame Baba had the knowledge and the power to dish out revenge. She had the skill to ensure that even if anyone wanted to... Even if they had the help of an eternal dragon... The Crane Master was never going to be returned to life and he wasn't going to be able to haunt anyone anymore, in the shape of a red crane. The Saiyan race as a whole was beyond redemption. Freezia, if that monster was indeed dead, was going to get to see his own power dwarfed by an angry old woman actually short enough to be a dwarf. And so would Garlic Junior. And so would anyone else who had ever threatened the Earth, Kami or Roshi. They could forget about any hostile warriors or aliens that had been banished to other worlds. Those potential threats were never going to have the chance to resurface now. Also... Since the afterlife battle was expansive... There would be accidental victims, as well. There would be collateral damage. Which might make things easier. Because if the extensive damage done to Earth by the dark mists could _not_ be undone... Then, Chaozu felt, his friend would be safe. Tenshinhan could be saved without having to choose between his own life and three billion others. The gods would be distracted enough to let the assassin live.

IF the assassin chose to live. That was what the decision had been reduced to, now.

The witch would have done all this anyway. Madame Baba had some deadly serious issues to work out with creatures that she'd outlived. But it was worth showing appreciation to someone with that kind of power. So taking in the little triclops for a bit was a fair trade, of sorts.

Chaozu knew the girls name. She'd told him. But he didn't like her name. Because he knew who had chosen the name - that jerk! - and he knew what the name meant. Ranshin... He could almost pretend that it was a pretty name. He could remind himself that Lunch called her friendly persona Ranchi and that Tenshinhan... Well. Yea. Ranshin was a name constructed from parents. And both of those parents had worked for Red Ribbon, at some point. So the potential for that explanation - and for DNA samples from both of the accused parents - was there. Among other things. However... The Crane Master, in life, had been a jerk. And Ranshin could sound pretty but it wasn't. The meaning of the name... It was not a complimentary name. It was a word that you could only find if you borrowed a medical dictionary and opened it to the section on mental health care.

If Ranshin was ever enrolled in a public school then she was going to be called Crazy. Her name meant a very specific type of crazy though and so by high school, she would definitely hear worse from her peers. She could fix her name easily - if she wasn't so stubborn - with a hyphen or a space. Ran Shin meant Flower Mountain.

Which happened to be one of the peaks in the range where they currently were.

The kid knew nothing about geography. It was appalling. She'd flown all over the planet, following energy. Not road signs. She didn't know the names of any of the places that she'd seen. Chaozu navigated by landmarks. He could fly the whole world over and not be detected because, aside from being good at hiding his energy, he often traveled the Spine of the World. The mountain ranges. There were a few isolated peaks and volcanos - Ox Kings former mountain had been one of those - but most of the ranges created a pattern on the land. They connected. If you knew the names of the places and how they looked, you could get your bearings and direct yourself.

The Tien Shan Han, the Celestial Rocks, were to the north and east. The range was cold most of the year and jagged. The Teeth of the Dragon range was further north and to the west, practically icebound even though the mountains crossed a desert and were rumoured to be full of near-mythical tribes that lived in isolation. On Earth there were all sorts of mountains and rivers and forests and meadows and lakes and... Every place had a name. It seemed disrespectful and dangerously ignorant, to not pay attention to the names.

Chaozu was a former emperor. He'd ruled an empire from inside a palace. Names of the places in that empire were often all that he'd known about them, until the revolution. Still. Some habits died hard. Chaozu liked to know where he was going. He was psychic but that was more for dealing with time - not space. He'd studied geography.

The Toriyama range - for some reason a lot of the most famous ranges seemed to begin with the letter T - was in the south. The mountains were old and worn down, nearly just large hills and the landscape was heavily forested. They were probably not too far from the Son House, maybe only a few hours drive. But they were not, of course, driving and also not going in that direction. If they followed the range to the west, they could get to the semi-tropical Storm range and cross the continent through the Cloud River range and then turn north to the Teeth and then head east, homeward.

Chaozu was not entirely eager to get back home, in present company. So he was stalling. He was taking the long way. Maybe he could finish training the kid and then release her?

But she had so much to learn.

The girl was barely five. A five year old! And she could fly, even without powering up. She could detect energy and sometimes read minds. She knew Dodonpa and Taiyouken, the Solar Flare. She knew Noushiken, Your Brain Dies Now but she called it something else like throw-it-all-back-at-them and hadn't quite gotten the hang of the attack. She might have killed Gohan, if she'd been any better with it. She might have killed Piccolo. She hadn't. And a few days ago... This little triclops had chosen - she had not been asked or ordered - to get between Kuririn and a blob of bad energy. She had gotten through a barrier that none of the other warriors had been able to break, had recognized the bond between Kuririn and his evil side and had nearly focused her energy on an attack that would have stopped Kuririns heart.

She had, in a word, abruptly learned Telekinesis. She had also recognized that Chaozu wasn't using Taiyouken as an attack by itself but as a way to hide other attacks. She'd seen the rectangles...

Hey, even a skilled psychic needs a few helpful tools. Making one person forget one specific thing was challenging enough sometimes. When it was a whole group of people... And when the people in that group were far stronger than average... And when a mistake could be the equivalent of inducing a stroke... Chaozu liked the not-fridge-magnets. He didn't have to concentrate as much to induce mass amnesia with pinpoint precision, when he used those. It was too bad that the opponents in the future wouldn't have more vulnerable organic brains. He could have used the rectangles on them, it was a weakened variation on Noushiken. But such was the future and even the defenders of the planet had to let some things happen.

Because if you blocked it - if you could truly and successfully stop all the potential futures from coming - that meant the End of Time. And that was not a better option, for mortals.

"How about C-san?" Ranshin was still trying to think of what to call her newest teacher. She winced at his outward mental reaction to being reduced to a letter and an honorific suffix.

His inward mental reaction was: _C-san makes me sound like a television station or something..._

Ranshin didn't want to insert even a space into her own name. No becoming Ran Shin for her. So she was aware that she didn't really have the right to insist on changing someone elses name but... She was also aware that kids could get away with a lot. And she refused to have a teacher whose name she couldn't pronounce.

She was, Chaozu hated to admit this, probably on the path to being more skilled than him. He'd been a young emperor but not THAT young. With training - if he decided to do this and what choice did he have? - he was going to end up with a skilled psychic who, by adulthood... Would be able to see things that he couldn't. Because a triclops was not even supposed to be possible at her age. But she was. And so she was at ease with seeing all the weirdness of the spiritual world as if it just another part of the natural one. And so her awareness was going to bypass even Ten-san, the only other triclops currently on the planet, because he wasn't psychic. He hadn't ever been. He came close sometimes but... It was a strange accident that had blessed Tenshinhan with a third eye during his adulthood and he hadn't been psychic before that so he hadn't adapted the skill, afterwards. He hadn't needed to. The third eye had given him better aim, the ability to be aware of disguises, an increased awareness of energy, an increased receptiveness to telepathy and the ability to learn attacks if he saw them. Who needed to be psychic when they could already do all that?

Most legends said that a third eye was a symbol of spiritual enlightenment. Most legends said that only monks or dedicated samurai or pure-of-heart heros could hope to obtain such a mark of approval from the divine side of the universe. Not professional assassins. Tenshinhan existed anyway. Most genetic scientists said it wasn't really all that special, give them a few weeks to muck about with frogs. Scientists these days could clone a horse and put seven legs on a sheep and grow human parts for transplants on the backs of mice - so why not a third eye? But the real deal, the true divine mark... The full effects could not be recreated in a lab, that's what the reports had always said before. But here the kid was, anyway.

A kid born - or built - with a spiritually functional third eye was supposed to be a monster. Ranshin wasn't. Yet. Hopefully, she would never live up to the awful name that the Crane Master had selected for her. She wasn't wearing the symbols of the Tsuru dojo at least, that was reassuring. Not very reassuring though, because...

Ranshin didn't know what three of the marks on her tunic meant. Chaozu recognized all of them. Which was why he'd stopped here, in a remote mountain village, to insist on buying the girl some new clothes. Because he didn't even like to see these five symbols together in the same place.

Five symbols, small but done in red and black thread. Stacked in a vertical row, centered on the front of the tunic. Ranshin recognized the mark of her former teacher, Jitsugen and also the mark of Mutaitos school. Master Mutaito, the legendary shugendo master. Shugendo, The Way of Supernatural Powers. Sometimes called Shaolin. Sometimes called Magic. The only martial art that included visible energy combat and skills like flying. Often the source of people living well beyond the natural age that average humans accomplished.

What kind of futures had the witch seen, to have allowed her mark to be on that childs tunic? Because it was there, stacked right next to the mark of the witches deceased husband. What kind of futures might require someone like Ranshin? How often did the witch, no doubt a shugendo master herself, basically reserve the right to eventually train someone?

Hrm. Maybe Kami wasn't the only creature thinking of retirement.

Kami was not one of the marks on the tunic. His energy was woven into the fabric of the clothing that he had used magic to give the girl but why should he plan to train someone when he was going to retire? He wasn't going to lay any claim to the witches potential student, anyway. Kami was more than five hundred years old, by the Earth calendar but it was possible that the witch had a measure of senoirity even over the gods. It was possible that, mortal though she was, the witch outranked the gods. Having an actual local god in residence to keep an eye on the planet might, in fact, have been her original idea.

Chaozu had been traveling with the girl for the past week. They hadn't talked much. Not even with telepathy. That's why Ranshin was still uncertain of what to call him. And they could have stopped sooner for clothes - there were other villages in the mountains and they had visited a few of those for food and shelter and news as they traveled - but this village where they were now had some of the best tailors. And no student of his was going to be dressed poorly. Especially not if this kid had to train with the witch someday. Extra especially not when her old outfit had been given to her by Kami. You just did NOT replace clothes from the Guardian with any old thing that fit.

Ranshin did not understand this.

The new outfit was fancy, made from red fabric. It had long sleeves. With wide cuffs. And a stiff high collar. It had a double row of buttons down the front. There was a lot of fringework that was done in golden thread and that did, in fact, have small bells on it. And that was just the jacket.

Chaozu was somewhere between wanting a camera and sympathizing. He had the satchel full of tools for psychic work but hadn't thought to pack a camera. It was a shame. He had inadvertantly ordered the type of clothes that he'd once had to wear, while ruling an empire. It was a little overdone.

"Are the bells really necessary?" Ranshin had a good set of ears to go with her eyes. She'd listened to the adults in her life enough to pick up words that she couldn't yet read. It was a cruel irony that she couldn't seem to pronounce his name. She'd heard it often during the last week.

Most adult residents of the mountain villages knew Chaozu on sight - and by name. Chaozu was welcome in the mountains because he was a halfway frequent visitor from the outside - which was what the villagers called everyone who wasn't a villager - and was wealthy enough to be good for business. Plus his best friend on the planet was known to be a dangerous assassin. And now he was traveling with another triclops and the reaction THAT had gotten...

The most dangerous assassin on the Earth was now widely regarded as a parent.

You had to let some things happen.

Chaozu really and sincerely had not intended this. But the girl was traveling with him and he had traveled with Ten-san. So he'd taken to the mountains out of habit and crossed paths with the few residents of Earth who knew his friend and... Yea. He should have gone home a different way, maybe. And maybe the long route had been a mistake, as well. Still - it had been educational, to overhear everyone suddenly deciding that if Ten-san had a daughter then he couldn't be that terrible or scary and they'd have to invite him over for tea sometime. Chaozu had literally been given some invitations to deliver. The worlds most dangerous assassin, who had never really been able to fit in... Was being asked to come to little informal gatherings hosted by other parents who raised their kids in near-pristine mountain wilderness. Bring a snack. Not a poisoness one, please.

Of all the futures that Chaozu had NOT seen coming... The ability of people to change their minds and their opinions, that was just unpredictable. It never ceased to be a surprise.

So Ten-san was now going to be stuck with two awkward decisions, just as soon as someone told him. Did he want to live? And did he want to be a father?

The village was bustling. Ranshin stood a few feet away, surrounded by complete strangers who wanted to say at length how cute she looked in such a formal outfit. This always seemed to happen if the girl was left outdoors for more then a few minutes. You couldn't even pause and try to gather your thoughts. She stood there, tolerating it like a practiced war veteran but with an expression that demanded rescue before she attempted Mass Hypnosis again. Or something worse.

Chaozu sighed and rescued her by politely thanking the villagers, answering some questions, taking a few more invitations and calmly informing everyone that they would probably see this display of unmitigated cuteness again someday. Once the crowd had been dispersed, he said: "Look, if the z is what's tripping you then why not just say Chao-san?"

Privately he thought: _Which sounds a bit like chaos. Which my life has become, hasn't it?_

**ooxoo**

**H**alf the island was populated by pirates. Not all of them were retired.

Gohan sat on a bus, between his mother and Irene. There were other people on the bus. Some of them did have eye patches and peg legs and hook hands and parrots. Some of them even had gold teeth. There was a humanoid rat and a humanoid penguin and a guy who looked like he was maybe half-walrus. Most of the pirates wore black or red or purple. All of them had the mark - the skull in front of the crossed axes - somewhere, if not on their clothing or engraved onto their jewelery then inked into their skin. This was a reunion, of sorts. His mother, between the ages of 13 and 19 had been a Captain. These pirates had been her crew. For six years and across many different boats, these pirates had been family. It had been a strange but kind of nice gathering, until today.

Today... Gohan did not know where the bus was going but he did not like the energy of the people on the bus.

Irene was sitting next to him, holding a bouquet of flowers. She hadn't put one in her hair or in her teeth, she hadn't tried to start a duel with a rose. Her usual dramatic personality was not evident, today. She was quiet. Even the assorted parrots sitting on shoulders were quiet. And his mother was an absolute wall of silence.

Gohan looked out the window. They'd left the apartment before dawn yesterday. Irene had been driving the bus. They'd made a few stops to pick up more crew members and had all been singing jolly sailing shantys off-key. Everyone had been happy to see their beloved Captain again and there had been much talking, along with several pirates presenting his mother with gifts - most of which were axes. They'd terrorized a local hotel-casino for the night and well into the early morning. Because they'd been successful as pirates, they had been able to pay for the damages. But today was the final leg of their little roadtrip and now the crew was quiet. The rat was driving.

The skyline of a distant village eventually became visible in the roadside landscape ahead. Or rather, the single building in that village large enough to HAVE a skyline appeared on the horizon ahead. The village was mostly squat one story buildings that tried to look ancient and venerable but instead looked poverty striken. The buildings were full of damage, as if there had been a war here once and nobody had been able to afford to clean it up. There didn't seem to be many big plants growing here either, the ground held scorch marks. The few plants in the scenary were all fragile and small. It was kind of eerie. Gohan stared out the window and wondered if there had been a natural disaster, maybe a few years ago. Why were they coming here?

With a jolt, the bus turned down a dirt road and bumped its way to a parking space. The door opened and the rat tossed Irene the keys. She caught them without comment, pocketed them and reached across to squeeze his mothers arm. It was a gesture of friendship and support, Gohan knew, but he didn't understand why it was needed. His mother stood and took his wrist. He knew her expressions well enough to understand that something about being here was difficult.

The pirates filtered off the bus and protectively surrounded their Captain. Irene also walked in the center of this group. They shuffled through the dusty streets, towards the large building.

They could have parked anywhere. The village seemed empty. Or maybe it always looked this way, when the locals noticed a large group of armed pirates strolling down main street. And the large building... Was behind a fence. A tall, wire fence. And the building was crumbling. And that was a shame, it had probably been impressive once. Even crumbling, it was kind of impressive. There were a lot of tall stone columns and...

Gohan remembered his father telling him about a place like this, in bedtime stories. The closer the group got... Gohan slowed his pace. It couldn't be. It had to be. The building... Was a stadium. He tugged on his mothers arm and hardly had to look at her for the answer. But her look did confirm it.

The Tenkaichi Budoukai Stadium.

All along the fence were flowers and balloons and little momentos. So the fence was not just to keep trespassers out, it was a memorial. Irene stepped forward and slashed a hole in it then held the wire open. His mother let go of his wrist for moment, hugged Irene and then pulled him through the fence.

His mother tried to sound casual. "Gohan-kun..."

Behind them now, Irene was kneeling and placing her flowers next to the fence. The rest of the crew had their heads bowed, some had even taken their hats and headscarfs off. They remained protectively around Irene and glanced towards ChiChi with concern.

"Do you remember what your father told you, about the last World Tournament? The 23rd?" His mother stuffed her hands in her pockets to try and hide the fact that she was shaking. Her voice was unsteady. "He might have left out a few details. I think maybe it's time that you heard them."

Gohan nodded. And listened.

His mother, age 19, had been at that tournament too. She had made it to the semi-finals. And then... She had watched the world go insane, from the sidelines. Her voice cracked and she had to pause a few times but the story was told. It pained her. Because even though she had spent six years training for the tournament, even though she had made it to the semi-finals... She hadn't been strong enough to help any of the people that she'd cared for. She had ended up hiding in a trench on the ground - the trench was still here. Watching as the man that she loved was thrown against a monster and together, the warriors had trashed the stadium. They had trashed the village beyond the stadium. Some of the audience had been killed - and Irene had been in the audience. And so had some other pirates. Including one that Irene might have married, if he had lived. Her friends had been that close to the blast.

"I was SO scared." ChiChi struggled with the words. They didn't seem adequate. She wanted to make certain that her child understood, so she tried to think of terms that he would grasp. "You told me once about an alien called Freezia... And how scary he was and how helpless you felt in his power..."

She had been so glad to be alive, by the end of the tournament, that she had overcome her own shyness and immediately proposed. Because she had been amazed that Goku was alive too and hadn't wanted him to escape again. She'd met him at the age of 12 and wasn't ready to let him just walk out of her life for another seven years. Life was precious. And family... Poor Irene. If only her fiance had lived. If only he hadn't been sitting in the section that got blasted. Irene had gone to get some snacks and... The wedding. How could anyone invite someone who had just lost their own future husband to a wedding?

It was meant to have been a double wedding, that's what ChiChi had originally planned. She would marry Goku and Irene would have married her fiance - and the whole crew would have been there to celebrate. But the grief... ChiChi had given up being a pirate, had given up fighting and had settled down to married life. Irene could have gone back to the ship. Instead, Irene had bought the old apartment - the pirates liked to have a stable mailing address, that was why they'd gotten the apartment at all - from ChiChi and had also retired. Irene had not come to ChiChis wedding. None of the pirates had. It had mostly been Gokus friends.

"Mom..." Gohan was such a good kid. He was trying to understand. He conveyed sympathy and pain for her, as he looked at the gashes that the battle had left both on the stadium and the mourning people by the fence.

But he didn't understand. Not yet. This was going to sting a little. ChiChi hated to do this but her son was talented at taking off. If she didn't try to make herself clear when she had the chance... When would she ever have the chance again?

"I wish you were about fifteen." She muttered, her tone softened by sadness. "I'm sorry that I can't wait that long to tell you these things. I try to protect you and... You're strong enough to take it, that's what everyone says. So take a good look around, Gohan-kun. You know who your father was fighting here. Your father isn't the only one who has told you that story, I'm sure. Now you know why I can't think of your friend as anything but a demon. If that Freezia monster ever came to Earth and if I became friends with him, Gohan-kun... Could you forgive him for being a monster? Wouldn't it be hard? Even after a long time, wouldn't it be hard?"

Silence.

She crouched down and hugged her son. "I will always try and respect you and your decisions, Gohan-kun." ChiChi promised. "But it's very hard for me to not be scared for you, especially when you start making friends like THAT."

After a long moment, she stood again and took in the scene. Feeling the fear of that horrible tournament all over again as the memories replayed but calmer than she had ever been. "Nobody tried to make this better with a wish, Gohan-kun. The stadium wouldn't be in ruins if they had fixed it with magic. The people wouldn't still be dead. I don't know why but... Maybe magic can't fix everything. Even if it could, even if they had made the wish to fix this place... A wish to fix things doesn't undo the history. The damage still happened. Even if everything was fixed, I don't think it would be easy to trust the demon. I'm sorry."

ChiChi took her son, rendered mute by comprehension, by the hand and started walking back towards the guarded hole in the fence. "I don't want you to ever rely on the magic, okay? You have to be smarter than that."

**ooxoo**

**K**uririn was not fighting. He just couldn't. They were kids! No matter how logical it might be, to train against creatures of all ages. No matter how true it was that he'd been a kid once and had been training at a young age. No matter that the kids wanted to be here or that Korin felt they were all kids. These kids were kids. It was a mental roadblock that defied all attempts to rationalize it away. The kids were also not evil, not even Shirley. She acted a bit like a bully but she was protecting these other kids! She was a protector! _That_ was a mental detour. Kuririn wasn't going to fight with anyone just because he could. That wasn't his style. And he was supposed to be pure of heart now, anyway, wasn't he?

Anytime someone challenged Kuririn, he hovered. Only Shirley could fly. The other kids were still learning. None of them could hit him, in the air. Shirley was it. And Kuririn just let her try to come after him. She couldn't. He had the strength to avoid being hurt and the speed to avoid being hit. Shirley had given up on trying to spar with him, for the time being. The other kids had followed her lead.

A protector! He was so proud! How could Kuririn possibly raise a hand to that?

So Puar was fighting with the kids now. And Puar had a strategy, too. She could hover, as well. And change shape. And so the kids could only get close to her if she let them and she didn't often let them. The kids would be so confused by the way that the tiny cat could stretch and twist - Puar wasn't changing shape so much as distorting her own size in these battles - that they often surrendered. Puar could hit an opponent no matter where they were. She could reach out with her paws or, more often, her tail and just smack anyone. And she had done enough martial arts to make the attack hurt. And she was also a cat, she had claws. Not to mention that Puar could change into a lion and roar at them, which always made the kids take a step back. And if anyone actually managed to mess up her fur, heaven help them all...

Oolong was on the sidelines, taking notes. He wasn't as frightened anymore. The pig could fly now - so the impossible was seeming doable.

A familiar energy arrived on the Lookout. The bandit. There was another energy with him, also familiar.

_Master Roshi?_ Kuririn was confused. The apprentices had not sent the bandit out to fetch the old man. So why...?

Korin twitched his ears, grinned and called for an end to the sparring. His young students gathered around him, to be told in detail how they had done.

Oolong, Puar and Kuririn could all detect energy. They left the palace to investigate.

Master Roshi was picking himself up and grumbling about this not being a nice way to treat a legend. He was flustered and had clearly put up a fight about coming here. Yamucha had dragged the old man here by the scruff of his neck. The bandit was not the type for glaring a lot - but when he DID... It was glare that could have iced roads.

"He's related to Lunch." Announced the bandit.

"Not directly!" Master Roshi protested, flailing his arms a bit. "There's three hundred years worth of relatives between us!"

"He needs to tell you WHY he became a hermit." Hissed the bandit.

Master Roshi stumbled but managed to keep his dark sunglasses on. "Look, anyone who's ever had a large family knows that things can get tense sometimes. And I've been trusted with a lot of secrets! So I couldn't tell them everything." He stammered. "And then I outlived a few generations, so that made things more awkward..."

"You became a hermit to avoid your family?" Kuririn managed. He thought of Lunch. _And then, by chance, we brought your own descendant - of all people - to be your maid and you failed to mention it...?_ He thought of something else, it made him dizzy. Because Master Roshi had always called him 'my boy'. Kuririn had assumed it was an affectionate sort of thing for a sensei to say. The older monks at Orinji Temple had called him a son, as well. But the thought that there might be more to it than just respect...

Kuririn fainted. Oolong caught him. Master Roshi sighed.

"Where is Bulma?" Puar was not afraid of her friend, even when he was glaring. She wanted to stick with the plan. "We've already started training, she needs to get up here soon if we're..."

Yamucha had the look of someone who had been shocked into doing a lot of very clear thinking in emergencies. "There's a better way." He assured his friend. He'd thought of something even better than having to drag a six year old up to be an apprentice. "I've been talking to some lawyers." The way the bandit said this made it clear that he had talked to some lawyers cats, as well. He had, in fact, gotten some help from the cat that Puar was dating. "Apparently, it is not impossible to file a lawsuit against god. Please let Kami know that he's being charged with three counts of false imprisonment."

"...how is anyone supposed to enforce laws against...?" Oolong began, struggling to support Kuririns weight.

Master Roshi reluctantly helped the pig. "...you're more like a nephew..." The old master mumbled to his unconscious student and then paused to count the generations. "...a great-great-great..."

Puar kissed her big brother on the nose. "It's logic!" She twirled happily in the air and then danced across the bandits shoulders. "The gods exist to enforce justice! They have to be good examples! They can't be above the law if they support it! They'd have to enforce it on themselves! You're brilliant!" She clung to the side of the bandits face.

"Thank you. I have good teachers." Yamucha muttered, no longer glaring. "Now would you change size to something that I can hug back?"

**ooxoo**


	34. Clarity: December 3rd, 763 AD

_**Eclipse**_

**by DoraMouse**

**ooxoo**

**Authors Update:** There used to be a note on the top of part 21, the chapter called Twist. It's been removed. I still reserve the right to break from canon but as it turns out, I might not have to. Not as far as the Saiyans go, anyway. Please be patient with me if the updates are slow for a bit. In case you haven't noticed, I love all these characters. It's not always easy for me to tell this story. I laugh, I cry, I wonder why my family hasn't put me in an asylum... Oh. Too much information, yea? Back to the story then.

**ooxoo**

**Clarity: December 3rd, 763 A.D.**

**H**istory is full of things that get overlooked. Even in the present moment, there are things that get overlooked. Magic was banned at the World Tournament - and yet it had been used. Shugendo, the only martial art that included energy blasts. Known in some places as Magic.

Master Roshi had used an energy blast at the 21st Budoukai, to blow up the moon. But Roshi was a known legend. The tournament officials had allowed some bending of the rules for such a respected marital artist. Because who wanted to confront a man that could blow up the moon, anyway? The fight judges had nearly disqualified Goku for turning into a giant and hostile monkey - that HAD to be magic, right? - but the boy was Roshis student. So they'd respected the old mans right to take care of things. The 22nd Budoukai... Once again, Roshis students had used energy techniques but mainly just against each other and their rivals. The elite warriors, for the most part, had not gone out of their way to endanger any regular people. That's why their magic, the use of energy blasts, had not been banned on the spot. Those warriors could have all been disqualified.

The 23rd Budoukai, with the god and the demon sneaking past security and the number of innocent spectators that had been killed... Had represented the end of Master Roshis antics being tolerated by tournament officials. The old man himself had already promised to permanently retire and never again participate in the tournament. But his students and rivals and enemies... The damage was done. Murder was bad for business. The debate had been sparked. The arguments continued. Should energy blasts be permitted, in future competition? If there was any future competition. It the wake of recent disasters, the World Government had canceled all of the tournaments.

There was another rule...

Weapons were banned from the World Tournament. There was a good reason. Two extremely good reasons, in fact. And they were not the obvious reasons.

The Earth was populated by people who studied martial arts. There was no shortage of traditional masters, the skilled teachers and dedicated students of karate and judo and kung fu. Some of these people were legendary in their own rights but none of them were anywhere near legendary in the same way that the shugendo masters were.

Except for two. And both of those legends had been swordsmen. And these two swordsmen were the reasons that the Tenkaichi Budoukai had banned weapons. Right from the start. No weapons. Forever. Because both of these men had been specifically banned from the tournaments as well, even though one of them had been dead long before the tournament was created. Given his reputation, it hadn't seemed proper NOT to ban him. And the descendants of these clans had been politely invited to please never attend. Nobody had even wanted to try and compete with any of their students.

The stories had been largely forgotten and distorted by time but they remained impressive in the telling.

A man named Musashi Miyamoto, the stories claimed, had lived thousands of years ago. He had resided in a tiny fishing village and had become famous not because of how skilled he was with the sword - but because of how skilled he was with _anything that he happened to pick up_. Musashi was such a complete master of swordsmanship that, according to the stories, in his hands... It didn't matter what he held. As long as he was holding it, the object _behaved like a sword_. He could take a fishing pole or a wooden oar from a row boat or a rake from the garden - and win duels. Against opponents with real swords. Even against multiple opponents at once. Musashi had eventually died in a fishing accident without being defeated in combat. He still held the record for most duels ever won by a single warrior and would probably always hold the record for most duels ever won without using a sword. He would undoubtedly retain the record for the most opponents ever mortally wounded with the oar of a row boat.

The other man, who had lived more recently in history and who had spent the majority of his life writing long detailed essays on the ethics of weapons combat, might have been able to break Musashis records - but nobody had ever challenged him to duel. Well, there had been once or twice but not after that. No, news gets around about things like _that_. They called him the Founder of Kendo and Bushido. His actual name was lost to popular memory. But he was known for always having a sword with him and never needing to use it.

In the most famous story of this man, he had been wandering across a meadow on his way to visit a friend and do some deep philosophical drinking. Such was the custom. Start with the tea, work up to the wine - talks were never held without refreshments available. However the meadow that he was crossing happened to be the location of a small war in progress. Both armies saw this stranger and challenged his right to wander through their disputed border. He'd smiled calmly at them and said: "Really, a challenge? Are you sure?" The massacre that had followed was very tidy. Hardly any mess. And none of the villagers cowering in the distance had even seen the man pull his sword. He must have, of course. They just hadn't seen it. The man had stood there serenely, hands folded behind his back. He hadn't even taken his pipe out of his mouth. One moment, two armies had been bearing down on him. The next moment, he was the only person in the meadow still breathing. You could almost believe the massacre had been an accident, that this humble little man hadn't been involved... _Almost._

That mans name was lost to history. But his sword wasn't.

**ooxoo**

**H**onor really was a double-edged sword. Not a katana, though. And not a plain-looking sword, either. The divine swords were few and far between - and most of them had been decorated. Justice was a claymore, a big broadsword that you had to hold with both hands but the weight of all the encrusted jewels made even that a struggle. Fortune was an overdecorated sabre. Love was a rapier, a sword that looked like a giant needle but could do oh so much worse than give an opponent a shot - if only it hadn't been turned ceremonial and stuck in a museum. Courage was a scimitar, a curved blade once treasured by pirates and seafaring merchants but they'd gone a bit overboard with scratching designs into the blessed metal. The magic of that sword was unstable now, it wasn't safe to use.

There were only two divine katana on Earth anymore and only one of those looked plain.

Grace was the ceremonial blade. Yajirobe had seen it once, locked in the depths of a special vault. That sword had a noticable energy field around it - an essence. Whether the energy was a curse or a blessing, no one was anxious to find out. The blade was rumored to be conscious. Grace was a sword that could practically wield itself. No samurai wanted a sword that could act independantly. No true samurai wanted a sword that was covered in magic and jewels or artwork or poetry - Love was etched with verses of poetry. Honor... If only Honor had been a katana. If only some fool hadn't taken the double-edged blade and decided to make it part of a sculpture.

All the best swords were plain-looking ones, in Yajirobes opinion. Including, as it happened, the very best one.

The divine blade had been owned by an influential philosopher. It had been a masterwork to begin with but had been enchanted by the philosophy. The sword even took its name from the philosophy. It was an ironic name, all things considered. Horrificially accurate, if the blade should ever be fully activated, but ironic.

It was called The No Ken.

Which meant: No Sword. Although it sometimes got translated to mean: There Is No Sword.

Which meant that as soon as this sword was activated - even partially activated - it would be untouchable. Because how could anyone touch it, if they didn't even know it was there?

The divine sword had been gifted to Korin, direct from the original owner. Korin had cherished the weapon. Even more than the many other swords dedicated to him or named after him, such as the entertaining Whisker of The White Cat. Those were nice but they were reduced to amusing toys in the presence of this. The divine blade represented everything that the immortal cat liked to do in battle: get into an opponents head and just mess them up. The No Ken was a riddle of a weapon. It would force an opponent to face some very unpleasant questions. Such as: 'How did that sword get there? I never saw it coming.' Because they NEVER saw it coming.

It also posed some difficulties for the person using the blade. Because the blade was not accustomed to being used. Not even the original owner, the philosopher, had ever fully activated this sword. It hadn't been necessary. Hardly anyone had dared to challenge the philosopher. And Korin had only used the sword on a few occasions before passing it down to his apprentice.

Yajirobe knew what he held, sort of. Korin had given him a riddle of a weapon and not much else. No special instructions or long lectures. An apprentice was supposed to learn by making mistakes. But the weapon was divine. Mistakes could be...expensive. Yajirobe had recognized the divinity of the sword without being told. And he knew the swords name. He had studied the philosophy - he'd been raised on that philosophy, most samurai were. But knowing the ideas and how to apply them were two completely separate things. Yajirobe didn't know exactly what this weapon could do or precisely how to make it do those things. The samurai was struggling to work out the rest of the solution for this riddle.

He understood that if the stories were true - but how much of history was recorded accurately? - then he was trying to adapt to a sword that could make a warzone massacre look like an innocent accident. He knew that, in theory, the blade was capable of greater feats. However, even when you knew it WAS a divine blade... It was not always easy to believe that this weapon was capable of so much. The sword looked very plain in a rather convincing way. The only persistant clue was the reflection. Every time that Yajirobe had seen his own reflection in this blade... It was not his reflection, as he was now. He'd seen himself younger. He'd seen himself older. The reflections of his past had been accurate. Were the reflections of his future also accurate? It gave him a headache, just trying to understand this sort of behavior.

If the samurai had been familiar with the concept of time machines then perhaps he would have realized that he was holding a weapon with the potential to be one. A very specialized one, though.

He didn't.

What Yajirobe was currently aware of, instead, was his feet. They were killing him. Yajirobe was tired. He'd been all over the planet in the past weeks and the majority of his global commute had been accomplished without an aircar. This had been necessary. He was Keeper of the Senzu. The senzu could only survive in the unique conditions found at the top of Korins Tower - you couldn't just haul the plants around - so he'd made the trip to and from the mountains. His journey represented a roughly diagonal path across the continent and that was just one way, Yajirobe had trekked this route in both directions now. This was not a stunt that many mortals were capable of. Even those who could fly would be hard pressed to match the samurais endurance and top groundspeed. And there had been a few other chores to take care of, along the way. With all this travel he'd hardly had a moment to himself since the last duel.

But he was a samurai and an apprentice god. Yajirobe was sworn to serve and he was being tested. His whole life had been a test. Given the distant goals that he had... The duties... Nothing worthwhile was meant to be easy. Tests were to be expected. So being footsore was not going to prevent him from passing this test. Trying to pass the test, anyway.

The other thing currently filling Yajirobes awareness was the assassin. Who was stubborn. Because the assassin had chosen a weapon that was not a sword. It was one of those weighted bo staffs, where the heavy wooden stick had been broken into three parts of equal length and then the parts had been reconnected with chains... What was the word for that? Yajirobe couldn't recall. He didn't pay a great deal of attention to the names for weapons that were not swords. He was only aware of this weapon, this chained staff, because he'd seen it early on in his samurai training. In the right hands, it was claimed, a skilled warrior could supposively disarm a swordsman by wrapping the chained staff around the blade. His samurai instructors had taken great pride in disproving that claim. All you had to do was sever the chains to render the stick worthless. Even a plain katana could defeat this weapon.

"Put that thing away and get a sword." Yajirobe insisted, absently wishing that his robes had more pockets to pack provisions into and that his boots had slightly less wear. He was not fond of the idea of shopping but he was going to need to get some new gear, before heading back to the tower again. He was starting to look as travel-weary as he felt. Yajirobe stood ankle-deep in the snow outside the cabin, aware that he would be waist-deep in the stuff if he let his concentration slip. He was not the most powerful warrior in existence but he was not going to be accused of taking an unfair advantage in a spar.

The assassin did not seem to think it was an unfair advantage. Not, at least, for the samurai. The kimura, the three-sectioned staff, was Tenshinhans favorite weapon. All assassins used a variety of daggers and blades in their work but blunt weapons... With skill, could leave less evidence. It was comparable to the difference between a Kamehameha and a Dodonpa blast. A sword or a Kamehameha... You'd look at the damage done to the victim - or, in the case of a good Kamehameha, at the damage done to everything within a five mile radius of what was left of the victim - and know what had caused it. A three-sectioned staff or a Dodonpa... You could do just as much harm but avoid making the cause of death so obvious that the police immediately issued a warrant for your arrest. Staying out of jail was a large part of being a successful criminal. And not leaving clear evidence was the mark of a true professional killer.

There had only been twice that the assassin had left marks on the landscape of Earth with energy blasts. Once had been to create the trench for the warriors to take cover in during the finals of the 23rd Budoukai. The other time... That had been an accident. An invading Saiyan had dodged an attack.

"You came here for training." Tenshinhan wore his hooded cape over a dark fighting uniform that had all sorts of concealed pockets. He stood just above the snow. He wasn't feeling a hundred percent - he'd had a bit of a cold ever since being wished back to life - but it WAS winter. Maybe the weather was delaying his recovery. Maybe everything else that had happened was also delaying his recovery. But Tenshinhan was the type of person who was still willing to fight even after having an arm ripped off, so he didn't consider a persistant cold to be worth his notice. And the samurai was not more powerful, he was fairly sure of that. And the sword looked plain. "Lets train."

Inside the cabin, still with a scarf tied around the handle, was the masterwork blade The Point of Being Sincere.

**ooxoo**

**K**ame Island was tranquil. This was not unusual, for an island only large enough to be occupied by one house. There were the noises of nature, the constant rush of waves against sand and the gentle winds in the palm tree. But the house... Master Roshi had been a hermit for more than two hundred years. Silence in the Kame House didn't typically bother him. Yet this silence did.

There was a small pile of sand, right outside the door. Oolong had spent his first day home literally kissing the ground. The pig had then taken on the shape of a clam - since he was apparently as happy as one - and had burrowed into the beach. He was still out there.

Yamucha and Puar, lacking a home until their mansion was rebuilt, had taken over the pigs room. But they were hardly ever here. The legal case...

It was probably only a matter of time before the apprentices had to go back to the Lookout. For now, their training was suspended.

The lawsuit had been targeted at Kami. Yamucha had trained with Kami once, for eight months. The bandit respected the Guardian and had felt that the case was just a formality. He had been confident that Kami would listen to reason and had hoped to settle things quickly. However, Kami was still in the afterlife. And Mister Popo was the Keeper of the Lookout, he prefered to avoid contact with most mortals. That left just one immortal on Earth who was currently willing and able to deal with the lawsuit: Korin.

And the problem with taking a god to court was that the god might, in fact, be perfectly content to go. Korin could speak circles around mortals. The white cat hadn't even set a whisker in the courtroom yet and he had already caused the case to be delayed. Korin had, in a long letter, politely asked why the legal system had summoned him by only one of his formal titles instead of by all of them. He was more than eight hundred years old with more than fifty titles, some of which were conflicting. If the court didn't believe in his other titles then why should they summon him at all? And if they DID believe in him and all his other titles, then they would - of course - realize who they were dealing with. And that moved the debate to a whole new level.

The first judge assigned to the case had abruptly retired to a small fishing village. The second judge had been hauled away to a mental institution. The third judge had been hit by lightening. Suddenly no other judges were certain that they wanted to take the case.

If the trial went forward... Which didn't seem likely... But even if a judge could be found... It might take an hour just to introduce the grinning cat. Also, Korin had requested a jury. Which had caused a violent debate to arise among the Earths citizens, especially those who lived in the area of the courtroom, about who was qualified to pass judgement on a potential god and how could any jury be impartial on such a subject. It seemed like the jury might have to be mostly animals and most animals had the sense to run away, when confronted with the idea of being in the same room as Korin. Because even though some humans called Korin the Neko-sennin, The Cat Master... Animals sensed, instinctively, that Korin was in fact the Tora-sennin. The Immortal Tiger. His stripes may have faded to white and his need to hunt had been replaced with the pure joy of chasing things but... Deep down, Korin still had the soul of a predator. And he was letting that side of his energy show more. Without even going to the courtroom, his energy was reaching the place. Other animals felt the change. And whether or not the animals believed in any sort of god, they did all believe in predators.

Even Puar and the team of feline lawyers that she was working with, they were nervous. The human lawyers on the team were nervous as well but for different reasons.

There were angry mobs outside the courtroom every day now, protesting the very idea of the lawsuit and also sometimes the very idea of god. There were humans screaming that animals were not intelligent and should not participate in human legal systems. There were humanoids, part animal, protesting humans in general. The debate kept growing. The angry mobs were on the news daily.

Master Roshi turned the television off and ambled to the kitchen. On the kitchen counter there was a scroll. A historic document, a family tree. With a lot of the names neatly crossed out. And then, next to it on the counter, in writing just as neat... Was another scroll. Newer but containing the same information. A copy. A correction, in this case. And none of the names were crossed out on this new copy of the scroll but some of them did have recent dates of death inked in beneath the names.

The assassin must not be feeling well. His shots had not been fatal, in most cases. The adult triclops had surprised and wounded a number of people but he had not killed all of them. And the assassin had been so confident of his skills that he'd left without checking to be sure that his victims were dead. He had just crossed out their names. _Still too proud. _Master Roshi sighed but was thankful. His family...

Lunch was being kept at the Ox Kings castle. Ox King was loyal to the Kame school and also was, by extension, loyal to the entire Mutaito bloodline. Master Roshi knew that his retired student felt the need to protect Lunch and keep track of her. It went unsaid that the giant also clearly felt a fatherly duty to keep her away from perverts - Lunch was only a little older than ChiChi. Ox King related to all people of his daughters generation with a mildly parental outlook. But all that Lunch currently knew was that the giants castle needed a maid. She had been hired and given a room of her own. Ox King was not going to kick out any grandchild of the legendary Mutaito.

Kuririn, meanwhile, had barricaded himself into his room at the Kame House. He was not even speaking through the door to anyone. This was the main source of discomfort, as far as the energy around the island went.

Master Roshi sighed again. What could he say? There wasn't an easy way to make this better. The old master didn't like what had happened either. Three hundred years ago, his sister - HIS sister - had been forced - FORCED - to give her own children selective amnesia. Mutaito, his mentor and his brother-in-law... Had been dead. Roshi had been too injured to prevent... _If only I could have prevented it. _The issue still weighed on him.

As much as Roshi had trained, as much as he had accomplished... Three hundred years ago, he had not been able to prevent his mentors death. He had not been able to undo his sisters spells. He had helped to defend the world from Daimio and Garlic. He'd helped to save the new Kami - and for what? On that day Roshi had lost his teacher and his hair. His beard and mustache were long but hair had never returned to the top of his head. He had lost his good posture that day, he'd walked with a hunch ever since. And the dojo... Roshi had lost a future that would have seen him teaching Mutaitos style. His sisters children, they could have run the dojo together and Roshi would have been there to help. But he'd even lost those children, in a sense. He had been erased from the memory of every relative. Except his sister.

Roshi had never been able to stand up to his sister. She had powers that frightened the gods. Roshi had never had that. That's what had made - what STILL made - the whole situation so unbelievable. How could someone with that much power be forced to do anything? In Roshis mind, it just didn't make sense. He'd refused to speak to his own sister for nearly a hundred years. He'd even banned the use of Magic from the World Tournament. Just so that his sister wouldn't attend. The Tenkaichi Budoukai, the tribute for Master Mutaito. A living memorial for her own husband and she hadn't been invited to attend.

He'd been _that_ angry.

The fact that the Crane Master... Had dared to attend... And Roshi had permitted his hated rival to attend. Just to spite his own sister, even more.

He'd been THAT angry.

As a result of the strained relations between them, the witch had taken her name back. His own sister... And Roshi couldn't remember what her true name was. Even in his memory she was just Madame Baba now. Though, by force of habit, he often reduced that to 'my sister'. It didn't seem correct to be calling his own sister Madame. That title was too formal. And strange.

Master Roshi had enjoyed being an uncle. And a great-uncle. And... But the kids had forgotten him, as well. They'd forgotten their own mother - grandmother, in some cases - because of the spells. So of course they didn't remember their maternal uncle. But he had been allowed to remember them. That had been awkward. Roshi had tried to make the best of things at first. He wasn't very good at pretending like he didn't know his own relatives though. He'd kept slipping up. By trying to hang around them and talk to them as if nothing had changed... But everything had changed. His nieces and nephews no longer had any idea who he was. The children that he had grown up with and had helped to raise... They suddenly saw him as a creepy old man, maybe even a stalker, who had no right to know so much personal information about them. They had told him to go away. So Roshi had gone. He'd become a hermit.

Distance and time had done the rest. Isolation had been his protective shield, it dulled the pain of regret and rejection. It had helped him to make peace with his losses.

Truly, Master Roshi doubted that he would know the current generations of his family if he tripped over them. He had mostly lost track of them and had outlived more than few. There were exceptions. The Jitsugen clan was one of those. It was hard to completely forget certain relatives when they showed up every so often to try and kill you. But the Jitsugens had been descended from one of Mutaitos siblings. So they hadn't ever been that close with Roshi to begin with. They hadn't known much about the true history of their famous relative. Mutaito had been married to a witch. Mutaito had been the guardian-on-standby for the planet. All that the Jitsugen clan had that was correct, in their stories, was that Mutaito had died of abnormal causes and that the dojo should not have been split. The Jitsugen clan knew that Roshi had been a student of Mutaitos but they'd never realized that they were trying to kill a relative. A sort of great-uncle-in-law, several times removed.

Isolation had been a comforting experience. Roshi had collected the dirty magazines for company. Pervert though he was, he had sworn to never seek a serious relationship of his own. He'd had his fair share of youthful explorations before the incident that had changed his life but afterwards... It hadn't seemed sensible to pursue women. Much safer, just to lust after women. Roshi was a cautious person - anyone who could survive having a psychic witch for an elder sister had to be a bit cautious - so he'd realized that it might be possible to end up dating a woman who didn't remember being related to him. And he wasn't that perverted, frankly. So he'd welcomed the 'relative safety' - in more ways than one - of isolation. He had dedicated himself to writing an entire series of books about the origins of energy combat. Getting the World Tournament organized, up and running had taken nearly two centuries. There had been a lot of red tape. Inspections to pass, fees to pay, etc. Getting the Kamehameha invented had taken a distracted fifty years. Training Ox King and a select few other warriors had helped to pass the time.

Master Roshi had gradually stopped wondering about what kind of people his relatives might be. He'd gotten out of that painful habit. He had gotten comfortable with being a hermit. Until that fateful day, nearly fourteen years ago, when Kuririn had first visited the island. And then Lunch had arrived, brought in a day or so later to be the maid.

And neither of them had tried to kill him. Er. Okay. Lunch _had_ tried to kill him. But Lunch tried to shoot everyone, sooner or later. It wasn't anything personal with her. That wasn't the same cold-bloodedness that the Jitsugens had aimed to achieve - they had ancient grudges. Lunch didn't seem to have any memory for grudges.

Lunch... Kuririn... Master Roshi didn't know who their parents were. Or their grandparents. Or even their great-grandparents. He had never met or heard of those relatives. Those relatives had probably never heard of Roshi. When Lunch and Kuririn had both just turned up, each in their own way... Master Roshi had been in denial for a bit. Had tried to ignore the lingering suspicion. But who could ignore it for long? Lunch pulled guns out of thin air. Kuririn was a natural genius for inventing energy techniques. These were inherited traits - the kind of thing that could skip a few generations and then come out at full force. Master Roshi knew where those traits had their origins.

He wished that he could offer his descendants more answers about the generations inbetween but... They were not his descendants, really. They were his sisters descendants. And Master Roshi had still been wise enough to be frightened of his sister. So Roshi hadn't said anything and he hadn't been intending to. If there was some kind of cosmic plan here then no, he was not anxious to be involved with another one of those.

The bandit... Was not at the Kame House much since he was trying to help get public support for the legal case. But Yamucha had been around enough to ask a simple question: was he related to this family as well? Was he a cousin to Lunch and Kuririn? A nephew to Roshi? A grandchild to Madame Baba?

Master Roshi didn't know. The ability to summon ghosts into combat was something that could have come from other clans.

His sister and brother-in-law had... Well. More than three hundred years ago, large families had been the trend. Roshis own parents were a rather abstract exception because it had taken them more than two centuries to decide that they wanted to have a total of two children. Roshi didn't have any other siblings, just the one elder sister. He had been picked on at school - such as school had existed back then - because his family was so small. And also because his elder sister, nevermind his parents, was already an age that none of his peers could believe.

Most of his childhood peers, it was amazing how vividly he could remember these things, had belonged to families with at least six kids in them and those siblings had all been only a year or two apart in terms of age. And most of those kids were only an average of twenty years younger than their parents. Master Roshi had felt jealous of those people. How nice it would have been, to be normal and fit in. To not be the only guy on Earth with a sister older than some countries. It was hard to relate to a sibling like that. He'd at least lived with his parents for a time. But he and his sister... No, they hadn't grown up together. They hadn't lived in the same house. His sister had been married by the time Roshi was born. She had been a parent and grandparent, even before he was born. She was his sister and yet she had been more like a great-aunt to him.

His sister had enjoyed being around kids, once upon a time. Children had good imaginations and that was an important asset to learning magic. And Master Mutaito had wanted to be the father of a modest family-run private army. Running a global business, and a widely respected dojo could become a sort of global business, often needed that type of support. The love had been mutual. The vision had been shared. The witch and the martial arts master... They had been such a happy couple. Theirs had been a romance for the ages.

It had also been ignored. The Mutaito family tree was a handsome document but it was not a wholly accurate one. History... Sometimes the only way to truly understand history was to take a closer look at what got left out of the textbooks. In this case - the family tree was one scroll. That was it. One scroll could not begin to contain the names of three hundred years worth of descendants. It could not begin to record all of the relationships that these people had ever had. So much had been left out.

More than three hundred years ago... Most women had been regarded as a type of livestock. Most women had been given the same basic rights as cattle, although sometimes the cattle had faired better. Master Roshi could remember these times. He knew that his sister was a rare and radical breaker of these social rules. She had been fortunate to marry Mutaito, a man who had supported her rights and who had insisted on teaching her martial arts. Together, the couple had practiced shugendo and had extended their lives.

That was a benefit of being the little brother to a sister older than some countries. Master Roshi had been given access to the practice that had extended his own life. He had grown up aware of it, had mimicked his sister and brother-in-law when visiting them. Formal training had been inevitable. Master Roshi had learned well and passed it on. The Kame students... Even if they retired from being warriors, as long as they remembered to practice their forms... As long as their lives were not ended by unnatural causes... They should all have the same potential to outlive average humans. Ox King was a good example of this, even though his age had not passed into triple digits yet. He was on his way. Past eighty was old for a giant who had been told by doctors that he would die before seeing twenty-one.

But even the witches name did not appear on the scroll. Radical though she had been, his sister had been overlooked. And the other women of the family... The names of the wives and the mistresses... The names of the ex-wives and ex-mistresses and their children... The names of the daughters, the sister-in-laws, the daughter-in-laws, the granddaughters... None of these were recorded on the ancient family tree. They had not been viewed as important enough to be worth recording, back then. The scroll showed the father and the sons, the tree went up a neat progression of branches from one male name to the next. Women were implied but not mentioned. As hard as it was to believe, now, that such discrimination had once been common - it had been. There were a few places in the world where such paralzying social inequality remained in place, as if to remind the civilized world of the danger.

The Jitsugen clan was hardly mentioned on this scroll. Descended from one of Mutaitos brothers, aha...

So if Kuririn or Lunch or the bandit - or even the assassin, at this rate - were descended from a Mutaito daughter or granddaughter or aunt or niece or sister or sister-in-law... If the women of the clan had changed their names when they got married or divorced or remarried or if, for any other reason, they had just felt like changing their names... Even a samurai with special access to the librarys and archives of the world would have trouble locating those records. Because there hadn't been any consistant records, public or private, about the females in history until about fifty years ago.

The samurai was from a well-documented samurai clan. The former emperor could also trace his own ancestory. They were safe, as it were, from this upheaval in the status quo. Goku was, thank the heavens, an alien. Master Roshi had been made aware of that even before Raditz had visited, due to Goku being raised by a former Kame student. ChiChi was descended from Ox King and Ox King could trace a lineage that had more pirates and orges than martial artists in it. No Mutaito clan there. But Lunch was, definitely. And Kuririn was, very definitely.

Why? After three hundred years, why was all of this happening right now? After living in isolation for so long... That two of his own descendants... A niece and a nephew, who hadn't even known that they were distant cousins... Should show up on his little island... And within a day of each other...

And his sister, after three hundred years, was getting her powers back. HIS sister, who could make the gods nervous even WITHOUT her full powers... She was getting it all back. Her magic was increasing. So even if the assassin HAD been feeling well, he probably would have missed most of his targets. Because the witch protected her family, to an extent. Even her great-great-three-hundred-years-of-separation-great grandchildren. Even those who had no idea that they were related to her. There were probably whole clans, who had no idea that they were related to her. The relation might, in some cases, be distant: a half-step-something-in-law. Things like that. But the existence of Lunch and Kuririn were evidence that the passing of multiple generations had not diluted all of the bloodlines.

The witch had been weakened for three centuries, she had guarded herself during that time. She had not truly gone into isolation since there were always people seeking her advice - but she hadn't exactly been a well known public figure, either. His sister... And now she was getting her full power back.

Why? All right, so someone had finally killed the Crane Master. Wonderful. That was part of the answer and an overdue part. It was a relief to be rid of the wretched man. But... Why in this moment? His sister, getting back to her old self. His long-lost descendants, turning up on his doorstep. Aliens and adventures coming out of the woodwork. Defenders of Earth, so powerful that they were already considered legendary. Why did the warriors these days need to become so strong, at such young ages? The last twenty-six years told a story. Master Roshi tried to anticipate the next chapter. What kind of future was unraveling here?

Everything happened for a reason.

What was the reason? Master Roshi sat on a kitchen barstool. Wearing an oversized bright shirt and khaki shorts, the sandals hanging off his feet. He did not look like someone who would know the meaning of the words serious or worried - but currently he was both. He sat with his hands folded under his bearded chin. He wasn't even wearing the dark sunglasses today.

He wasn't a fortuneteller or a psychic - but he was related to one. And just as soon as she came back from the afterlife... Hopefully, she could be persuaded to share some answers.

**ooxoo**

**T**echnically, there was no such thing as a Child Emperor. The words contradicted each other. Because Emperors were regarded as gods and gods were considered eternal and eternal was not young. A child on a throne did not get treated like a child. They did not get to play with other children. But they did get to run an empire, so that was kind of like parenting. Right?

Chaozu was not sure if a political background was the best basis for parenthood. It did seem to be working so far, at least.

Teachers... Chaozu knew about teachers because he'd had a flock of them - but he didn't really know about teachers, because they'd all been afraid of upsetting the Emperor. He had been close to adulthood by the time the empire went under and so he wasn't sure if the teachers after that counted. But pretty much everything he knew about parents... His own parents hadn't been allowed to visit him much, after he'd taken the throne. He'd been locked in a special palace once and told to work on creating a heir. That had resulted in around a hundred intelligent but greedy women politely murdering each other for the right to try and make their future child the next Emperor. Not a single one of those ladies had known the meaning of the word love, Chaozu felt. He'd escaped without getting close to any of them and had doubted the validity of love ever since. Anyone who said they loved you was probably trying to sell you something. Or holding a dagger behind their back. Not surprisingly then, Chaozu had never wanted any kind of relationship after that experience and the revolution had, thankfully, removed the need to create a heir.

As for understanding children... Being on the same battlefield as Gohan, once and for maybe fifteen minutes before dying - that probably didn't count. And being mistaken for a child sometimes, that probably didn't count either. And being treated like a god instead of a child during his own childhood... Yea. Chaozu felt like someone who might need to study a few books just to find out what children really were. He hoped that there was a decent instruction manual for raising one. Although Ranshin would not qualify as average.

For now, it was a lot less complicated to label her as just a student. And she had other teachers to look forward to, that's what the symbols on her old tunic had indicated.

But there was a part of him that was stuck on the idea that the girl was psychic. She had used Noushiken - not very well, but... That was an attack that his ancestors had invented. That was a near-genetic trait in his family. The idea that Red Ribbon had gotten ahold of his own DNA... That was not surprising, Chaozu supposed. A bit annoying but... The idea that this girl was, if only fractionally, related to him...

No. He was only going to think of her as a student. Hopefully, she would learn quickly and move on.

She was already flying ahead. Ranshin couldn't have pointed out their current location on a map. She couldn't have recited the names of the landmarks around them - but she knew where they were going.

This was both encouraging and irritating. Because it meant that Ranshin was indeed learning fast. The girl had not read his mind, not exactly. She had... She must have... Read _through _his mind. Had sort of looked past his mind, at the other minds that HE was reading. The girl knew, now, not so much WHERE they were going but WHO they were going towards. She was flying by energy again. But not by raw energy because the mountains absorbed ki. She had locked onto the mental energy and was directing herself with that.

Chaozu had altered their route. They weren't taking the long way anymore. They couldn't afford to.

He nearly wished that they could have taken the long route. He'd spent a little more than a week traveling with the girl but hadn't gotten to know her very well. She wasn't skilled at shielding her mind but... She was five. Her mind was still growing, just like the rest of her. It was hard to be certain of what she was thinking. Her brain was like a construction site and it was active. You could get an idea for the shape of what was being built. You could see most of the parts but not how they were going to appear, once they were put together. And there was a steady stream of new parts, new information, coming in.

Not wanting to traumatize the kid... Chaozu hadn't mentioned to Ranshin about the corpses of the other genetic children yet. He hadn't been able to bring himself to talk to her about the Red Ribbon labs. He hadn't explained the symbols on the tunic that Kami had given her. And he had no clue how she might react to a certain assassin, all things considered.

He knew, at least, how to slow her down.

Ranshin was much better at blocking paralysis than she had been, earlier this week. And quicker to summon a shield, once he directed the Telekinesis outward to fling random objects at her. She was extremely skilled at flying close to the ground... Where had she ever learned that? She was good at anticipating energy blasts. And now, she was turning around in midair.

Most of their traveling, outside of the stops in villages, had become a mobile spar.

Which attack would she choose today?

Chaozu was a psychic but he channeled his energy through his hands. Dodonpa, the Fingertip Blast - obviously. Taiyouken, the Solar Flare - it started with a gesture of raising fingers to the forehead. And Telekinesis was a guided attack. It could be guided through the hands.

Or the eyes. Which was the method Ranshin seemed to prefer. She was attacking him hands-free. That was an advantage. It allowed her to try to attack and defend at the same time - and while in motion. Ranshin channeled her defense, her shield, from her hands. She did the Telekinesis with her eyes. The girl was flying low again and levitating everything that her aura knocked into the air. She was soon dragging a cloud of debree - pebbles and twigs and leaves and a poor confused rabbit that hadn't been able to get out of the way. She would make a sharp turn, in about a second, and send all the debree charging towards him. But she was flying low. And they were in the mountains. That made it easy. Chaozu knew that she would have to turn upwards. If she turned any other direction, she'd crash into a mountainside. So he knew where the kid was likely to be next. And it didn't matter if she threw Taiyouken - and she hadn't done that much - because he could detect and track her mind.

He could have shut her mind down. Or her heart. She would have to learn to defend herself from those attacks eventually. She wasn't very strong though. Skilled, but not powerful. So instead of just destroying her, Chaozu put his hands out in front of him as he flew and concentrated. He calmly separated the rabbit from the makeshift cloud that was hurtling towards him and returned the poor creature to the wild.

Ranshin didn't notice. She released the rest of the debree cloud that she had accumulated and dragged in her aura. She turned upward, letting the debree fly past her. However the pebbles, twigs and leaves were instead seized by a different mind and the cloud - no longer under her control - turned with her and began swarming around her. She had the sense to land this time and switched her focus to her shield.

Now they traded energy blasts. Countering a massive blast - like Kamehameha - generally didn't take much aim. Countering a Dodonpa... Which wasn't very wide... Took a little more skill.

_Hrm. _Chaozu was not confused. He was perplexed but not confused. He wanted to know what the future held for the world. Because he was starting to understand what the future held, for this girl.

She was five. She was already near her physical power limit. He hadn't mentioned this, either.

Her strength was above average, among normal humans. But among the defenders of the planet... Ranshin would be considered weak. And Chaozu was reading her full power, even through she wasn't using all of it to fly. And Chaozu felt qualified to estimate her limit because he knew what it was like to hit the physical limit. Because he'd done that, himself - back during the training at the Lookout. Back before death and reincarnation had transformed him. He had new limits, now. That was his future, maybe. He didn't know. He couldn't see his own future. But this kid... Her future, if the tunic she'd been wearing before was any indication... And it had been given to her by Kami, so it HAD to be an indication... Her future was going to be about mental combat power, not physical combat power.

Balance.

It was an interesting idea. Chaozu had only glimpsed parts of it but so far... It was not a coherant timeline yet. It was a future still blurry and taking shape. He didn't see how it all tied together. But... There was a certain logic, he thought.

Yea. Goku was a great hero and nice guy, most of the time. He didn't always make good decisions but the future apparently needed him. And his power was abnormal, even among the warriors able to defend the Earth. And Goku kept getting stronger. And so did Gohan, who had apparently been born with the kind of power potential that could rival his father. In fact, the sheer amount of power that those two represented... Was bound to have side effects.

How many of their past battles had been cosmic side effects? Had the universe as a whole been trying to heal itself and cancel out such abnormal strength? Or had Goku been created for a reason - all those coincidences that had allowed him to become a hero... That was destiny at work, right? Maybe all the events of the past were just training for the future. Maybe they'd all been meant to survive and get stronger. Was there a future coming that Goku, stronger than ever, would have to try and cancel out? Or would that burden fall to Gohan, if his father didn't make it back to Earth? What about the other warriors? All of that power...

Maybe the coming challenges would require more than just physical power, for a change.

Ranshin recovered her footing. She could block fingertip blasts with precision but her low power... When the blasts collided, they didn't cancel each other. Chaozu had to be careful not to let his blasts cut all the way to her. The girl always got thrown backwards, she could have gotten hurt. In this case she compensated by returning to the air. This time, she took some larger rocks up with her.

She got points for stubborness. Not many, though.

Without wasting much energy, Chaozu blasted the levitating rocks. Then he used Telekinesis to throw the dust in her eyes. Ranshin yelped and had to land again. He was flying ahead now.

The future... A balance... But...

Was it the robots? This was where Chaozu got snagged. He'd seen a version of future that involved strong robots. Robots didn't have organic brains. Psychic attacks required an opponent to have an organic brain. Why should he worry about training Ranshin, if she was already near her power limit and wasn't going to be able to do anything psychic against the robots? The robots would probably be too strong for even Telekinesis to have much effect. If he couldn't do anything in those battles - and that was the general feeling Chaozu had about the robot future... Why train this kid, to do something? What could she do? He was curious. Granted, the girl might be training with the witch by then. But the witch was the Absolute Last Resort when it came to defending the world. If the witch got involved with the robot future... Then Earth would be lucky to have a future at all.

Maybe this little triclops... Was going to have to prevent the witch from getting involved with the robot future?

...

Logical or not, Chaozu did not like this possible destiny. The girl... Against that kind of power... No way! The witch had a lot of history. What child was going to be able to withstand an opponent with hundreds of years worth of dangerous experience? The girl would probably faint if she so much as stepped back into the magical field around the witches home!

He was definitely going to have to talk to the kid about all this. And also make her training a whole bunch harder. Just in case.

The frustrated shout behind him signaled that Ranshin was back in the air and preparing another attack. But there was noise ahead of them now, as well...

Chaozu focused on the duel and then hesitated. This was a teachable moment or something, right? Hadn't he just decided that the girl needed to have more difficult training? He turned, deflecting a small tree with ease. "Hey." He zipped behind her and pointed. "Here's a good challenge for you. See that fight? Use Telekinesis. Stop it."

The gears in Ranshins head took a moment to realign. After more than a week of being repeatedly defeated by the tactics of the pale warrior, she was willing to let the spar end. Because she knew there would be another spar, eventually. And she would probably lose that one as well. She wasn't totally used to having an opponent who could read her mind and she wasn't much better at shielding her thoughts - these things sounded simple but were hard to deal with. Especially in battle. Ranshin had learned a lot but these things were holding her back. And so maybe this other challenge would be nice change of pace. Besides, she knew from the pale warriors energy that he was worried. He guarded his mind too well for her to be sure of why.

Use Telekinesis...

_... Okay._ Ranshin studied the scene. How could the battle ahead be stopped? She could throw something between the warriors - but they were fast, just blurs across the snow. Aiming for the center of the battle would be a narrow and moving target. That option was gone. She could try to levitate their weapons, that should end the battle. Then she noticed the sword that was in play. Ranshin wanted nothing to do with that blade, it gave her the creeps. She'd seen her reflection in that sword once and it had been wrong, that reflection. So that option was gone. Which left... Levitating the warriors. They were moving fast and they were heavier than the weapons and she couldn't detect their energy very well because of the speed and the mountains but... She could detect their minds.

And they hadn't detected her. So there would be the element of surprise, maybe.

"Uhm. Chao-san? You're not going to let them kill me, right?" Ranshin felt this was worth verifying. The fighting warriors had a ton of power. She might be able to throw them apart for a moment but... They would survive. They'd recover. And they would probably be upset. And once they expected her attacks... They'd block them. They could resist them. So she wasn't going to have this chance twice. And she doubted that any of her other skills would do her much good, if these warriors chose to attack.

"You're safe." Chaozu was glad that at least the kid was cautious. No warrior - and especially no psychic warrior - could afford not to be. He was also glad that they'd arrived in time to prevent... He shook those fears away. They weren't going to happen. "Stop the fight."

**ooxoo**

**T**here is nothing quite like the sight of an opponent suddenly being yanked off the ground and thrown backwards by an invisible force.

Being someone who had lived with psychics, Tenshinhan knew a bad omen when he saw it. While the bewildered samurai was being re-introduced to the horizon, the assassin had a fraction of a second to gather his energy. He did so. Tenshinhan felt the attempt at Telekinesis and resisted it. Only to be promptly buried alive in snowballs. Which he could power up and melt, of course. But... Wait. This energy... Who was attacking?

_You can't even detect me now?!_ Chaozu was upset and, judging by telepathic volume, nearby. _Or her?! And why have you got a kimura? Why didn't you use the sword that I told you to..._

It was possible, even through a layer of snow, to feel the weight of a stare.

Tenshinhan did not like being stared at. He destroyed the snow with a twirl of the kimura, the three-sectioned staff and glanced towards the treeline. Chaozus energy... Was probably there. He scowled in that direction, as much as any person under a hooded cape can communicate a scowl.

For a moment there was an indistinct telepathic argument. The babble of two mental voices. One was Chaozu. The other one... Tenshinhan had never heard before. It sounded female. There was only one female on the planet whom the assassin knew to be psychic. The witch. But there was no way that the witch could sound so young. And why would she even come out here? It was rare for the witch to leave her fortunetelling business, her advice was in high demand.

A pale blue light haunted the trees. Chaozu was flying down into the open. Another light, pale green, was trailing him.

Someone else who could fly? Wait, he'd seen that aura before...

"I have a student." Chaozu hovered to be near eye level and seemed to do a critical inspection of his friend. He had the disgruntled expression familiar to anyone who has ever considered tethering a small child to a tree.

Ranshin landed, stared for a moment longer and then marched off - as per strict instruction - to make sure the samurai wasn't planning an ambush by now. The tiny bells on her fancy red jacket jingled all the way. She could fly without being detected but she couldn't move without making sound yet.

Chaozu saw the way the girls rather grumpy presence affected his friends energy and knew what kind of questions were bound to follow. "No. We need to talk about something else." He took a breath and watched the girl walk away, mentally adding stealth to the list of things the kid would have to work on. Then he focused on his friend again. "Ten-san, remember the first time that I died?"

The assassin was not willing to let the questions be shoved aside. "What is THAT doing HERE? And why was she staring that way? It's not like SHE doesn't have three eyes!"

Ranshin heard this, flinched, turned and shouted. "At least mine are OPEN!"

Now it was her turn to be buried under snow. Which saved her life.

Tenshinhan was a professional assassin. When truly upset, a professional assassin does not raise their voice. They just silence someone elses voice. Permanently. But the thought of attacking what now appeared to be a tiny snow-person... Was not professional. The kid couldn't know what she was talking about.

Chaozu hated to have to correct this. "Actually..."

A samurai who was not psychic but who had been in a war once and who had been living with gods enough to know REALLY bad omens when he heard them, darted through the scene and took the tiny snow-person to safety before she opened her mouth again. He would be attacked, some distance later, for his trouble.

"Ten-san... You're kind of dying." Chaozu grumbled and flexed his fingers. He was thinking that maybe he should have killed the kid back in October, when he'd had the chance. This was not the way he'd wanted to break the delicate news. But why stop now? The sooner the information was given, the sooner a decision could be made. "Luckily, we can fix it by killing you. If you want."

**ooxoo**


	35. Breakthrough: December 4th, 763 AD

_**Eclipse**_

**by DoraMouse**

**ooxoo**

**Breakthrough: December 4th, 763 A.D.**

**A**bout eleven years ago...

Coming back to life could be a bit like waking up from a deep sleep. You became aware of sound before you opened your eyes. If you could detect energy, you became aware of energy before you became aware of sound. And if you were a skilled psychic then you became aware of minds, even before you became aware of energy.

Kuririn, age seventeen, would wake up feeling rightfully horrified by his last memories of life and want to know what the hell was going on. Master Roshi, age three hundred and twenty three, would wake up surprised and excitedly demand to know how anyone could have possibly defeated the same ancient demon that had been the cause of his legendary teachers death so long ago.

When Chaozu woke up, he didn't need to ask such questions. Instead, as he gingerly hovered and tried to get his bearings, he was thinking:_ My physical remains were capsulized? So... Someone carried my corpse around in their pocket for about a day? ...Whose pocket?_

Which was not a good way to start off, perhaps. But the disturbing thought was only compounded by the mental awareness that someone else was having a much worse day.

**ooxoo**

**T**enshinhan remembered that day. It had been his personal worst day ever. Technically, it had lasted for about a day and a half but... So much had happened in space of less than forty-eight hours.

Where to even begin?

Hello, boys and girls. Lets do some math.

If a grumpy old sensei has two students and one rival... And the rival is truly legendary but the grumpy sensei only claims to be... If the students are cautious but willing to follow orders from their teacher... If a tournament larger than anything those students have ever participated in before is coming up... And if the tournament is nothing like the typical line of work that these students are prepared for... Because the grumpy old sensei has students who are assassins and the tournament is for martial artists... And then the rival brings his own students, who are not only trained martial artists but abnormally strong people... And then the grumpy sensei betrays the trust of his students... Remember to subtract confidence. Now carry the zero and divide by...

No. Some catastrophies can't even be translated well into math.

Tao Pai Pai, the Worlds Greatest Assassin, had abruptly gone missing. For three whole years. That's what had started it.

It wasn't unusual for the Worlds Greatest Assassin to fall out of touch. Tao would take a solo job and just disappear for a bit, keeping a low profile while he worked. Sometimes Tao would also be forced to keep a low profile for an extended amount of time after a job, waiting for all the fuss to die down and for the investigations to be ended. But Tao, age 291, had respected his elder brother. And Tao had been efficient, a true professional. He had not ever fallen out of touch for more than a few months. Never for years.

You couldn't just put out a missing person alert on the Worlds Greatest Assassin. Not many people would have cared to find such a being.

The Crane Master... Maybe he had truly cared about his little brother. Or maybe he had only cared about the idea that something in the world might have the power to harm his brother. Either way, the lack of news from Tao had caused the Crane Master to grow steadily more paranoid and even more grumpy. The Crane Master had done his research, had used more than three hundred years worth of carefully cultivated strategic contacts... But all that they had been able to learn was that Tao had been working for the Red Ribbon Army. And someone had blown up the Red Ribbons military headquarters. The decision to go to the World Tournament, three years later, had been rather spur-of-the-moment and based on the idea that perhaps by attending they would hear some news about Tao. The Crane Master, by then a paranoid wreck, had suspected that Kame students would be there. The chance to upstage an old rival while gathering information had cheered him.

Chaozu might not have entered the 22nd Budoukai, if he'd been given a choice. Tenshinhan hadn't really expected to win it. He also hadn't expected to hear that Tao Pai Pai, the Worlds Greatest Assassin, was dead. Hadn't expected to see that Roshi, the Kame Master of all people, was truly alive. How did any enemy of their sensei live to such an age? And how had such an old man remained so strong? Tenshinhan hadn't expected to see that Roshi was perfectly capable of blasting the Crane Master out of the biggest stadium on the planet. Literally. Hadn't expected anything like Goku. And that was just the tournament! Immediately after the tournament... While Tenshinhan had been politely trying to convince people that Goku should be the rightful Champion of Earth and while privately trying to decide whether becoming the next Worlds Greatest Assassin was a good move... A green monster had shown up.

Daimio. Well, a henchmonster. An evil creature working for and bearing a resemblance to Daimio. Which meant that Daimio was out there.

Goku, age sixteen, had taken off on his own - more angry than any of his friends had ever seen him before. Tenshinhan had detected that power and had begun to understand the extent to which Goku had held back during the tournament finale. And having been raised around soldiers, Tenshinhan had always been taught that when an opponent held back it was an insult.

The next several hours had been numbing. The Crane Master had mentioned the demon before. Master Roshis own rushed stories and Kuririns corpse had confirmed the demons power. How was this ancient demon still alive? How did any creature survive in a jar, without food or water for hundreds of years? More importantly, how had the demon gotten out? Had the Crane Master, after being blasted out of the stadium...?

It had seemed a credible theory in the stress of the moment. For Tenshinhan it hadn't been hard to imagine that his own arrogant sensei, who had already betrayed him once that day must have finally snapped and made good on his threat to open the denshi jar. But Tenshinhan hadn't been allowed to stay with that theory for long. Someone - probably the bandit, who had been on crutches by the end of the tournament - had informed him about a maniac called Pilaf. Then he'd been informed of the dragonballs and recruited to search for them. And they'd had to let Roshi come along because the old man was the only healthy warrior left who knew what the dragonballs looked like. To have the sworn and hated rival of their recent sensei, tagging along as if to constantly remind of them of how misguided they'd been... Awkward was an understatement. And the search had been a race. The race had ended in confronting Daimio, who was also after the artifacts. How could they have never heard of these dragonballs before? Everyone else, even an ancient demon who had been trapped in a jar, knew about the artifacts. What were these things used for? Why did everyone want them? How were they supposed to stop...

Roshi had tried to use Mafuba, had missed his target and had died. The demon had proceeded to kill Chaozu AND after making a wish in an alien language had also killed the eternal dragon, Shenlong.

Death was not supposed to bother a professional assassin.

But the shock of losing Chaozu, the only person on the planet that he trusted and the one friend who could understand and relate to his situation - that had been traumatic. The shock of seeing Roshi, who had without a doubt been holding back power during the tournament, killed so easily was also traumatic. The shock of seeing Shenlong at all... Much less dead... What kind of 'eternal' dragon was this, that it could be killed?!

Tenshinhan had been paralyzed. And not just because Master Roshi and Chaozu had thrown paralysis on him - although both of them had, in a last ditch effort to try and ensure that someone survived the unraveling disaster.

Once he'd recovered enough to proceed... All their hard work to gather the dragonballs. What a waste. Without the dragon, the artifacts had turned to stone. Tenshinhan'd had no idea if - or how - the strange marbles could be fixed. It was going to take a different kind of magic to save the world now.

Master Roshi had been carrying a denshi jar. Tenshinhan found it. He had already known about the Mafuba. He'd taken some time to practice the technique. Tenshinhan could have used Kikouhou instead but against the demon, Mafuba was known to work. True - Roshi, the legend, had failed with the attack but Tenshinhan had trusted that he had better aim. Hence the assassin had been committed to the idea of dying in battle. Because what did he have to live for? His teacher had been revealed to be a fraud and possibly also a mental case. His mentor, Tao, was rumored to be dead. His best friend was dead. The world was a mess and he was supposed to be the Champion. Somehow all of this had to be his fault. It was like karma or something, right? So Tenshinhan had gone in search of the demon and had, at the World Palace, found it.

And the already very bad day had just kept going, from there. The demon had multiplied, spitting out an egg. Hatching another demon. A henchmonster called Drum. And Tenshinhan had just come off the most difficult tournament - as well as the only large scale martial arts tournament - that he'd ever been in. He'd still felt drained and discouraged from those battles, not to mention all the traumatic skirmishes inbetween. But he had persisted anyway. And he had won, eventually. He'd killed the Drum. It was time for a different beat.

The assassins best efforts to defeat Daimio had instead destroyed the denshi jar. Mafuba was no longer an option. Tenshinhan had rapidly gotten beaten down to the point where not even Kikouhou had remained feasible. At one point, the assassin had been taken hostage and used as a live shield for the demon. Goku, the young warrior who should have won the tournament... Had shown up, saved the assassin, defeated the monster and run - well, been carried - off to recieve medical help. Even with all his power, Goku had taken a beating. But against the demon... Goku hadn't been holding back. So... He'd respected the demon? But not his tournament opponents?

Honestly, Tenshinhan wasn't sure how he'd lived through the battle. He also didn't understand why all these people suddenly wanted to be friends. He still hadn't felt able to trust them. But they'd found him, dragged him onto their airship and bandaged him up. They'd taken him to a small tropical island with a house - what was this place? Tenshinhan had never set foot on a beach before. He didn't like the climate, it was too warm. There were talking animals, one of which could hover. How could a little cat know the technique for flying? Was the cat a martial artist as well?! But the animals... And Bulma, a lady who had told him to 'go ahead and die' at least five times since he'd met her... And Yamucha, a person who was on crutches because of him... They had basically, just by being around and for no good reason that Tenshinhan could understand, prevented him from attempting suicide.

There had been another lady, as well. Her hair changed color. She was insane. She had to be.

What was Tenshinhan supposed to think? No one had ever talked to him like that before. Most people didn't talk to assassins at all, they didn't have the chance. The few people who had talked to him... Over the course of his life he'd been threatened, instructed, teased and shouted at. Thanks to the existence of Chaozu, he'd also had some halfway normal conversations. But 'flirt' had barely even been a word in Tenshinhans mental dictionary, nevermind a part of his life experience. This weird lady... Maybe the world almost ending had gotten to her? Situations like that did tend to stress people and make them say things that they didn't mean. She couldn't have been serious. She couldn't have been sincere. She might have been acting on a dare or a bribe. She WAS working for Roshi, supposively as a maid. She had to be conspiring with the Kame students. Maybe_ she _was a Kame student. Even her name sounded fake - maybe it wasn't her real name. It had to be just another bad joke.

Goku had shown up on the island, grabbed his mythical bo staff, made some nearly incoherant remarks about training with god and had taken off again. Seriously, where did that guy get his energy? How had Goku healed so quickly? And where did the cloud come from? What kind of person could ride around on a cloud?! And why was someone so strong in need of further training at all, much less training from god? Wait. There really was a god? On Earth? And god knew martial arts? God was a warrior?

How was anyone supposed to feel about that kind of news? Believing in immortals was one thing but finding out that god had an actual local address and possibly also a suite of armor, that was a smidge more disturbing.

Shenlong had returned to the sky. Perhaps the eternal dragon hadn't ever really died. Maybe that had been an illusion. Maybe the dragon had only _retreated_ for a while. That made more sense. But on a day when the world had been turned upsidedown, why should anything make sense? And the dragon was supposed to be powerful, capable of granting wishes. Why would a powerful eternal dragon retreat? Had Shenlong been afraid of Daimio?

Whatever had happened, the dragonballs were re-activated and the wish was made. Magic had undone of all the damage that Daimio had so recently caused. And as grateful as Tenshinhan had been, to all these weird people that he wasn't sure he trusted, for restoring Chaozu to life... It had knocked his own sanity down a few notches, just to witness reincarnation. Because as both a professional assassin and a person who had been raised by soldiers, Tenshinhan had always thought of death as permenant. It was not comforting to become aware of the concept that his own past work was capable of being undone. All the people that he'd ever killed... All the people that his family and friends and teachers had ever killed... What if those killed people found ways back to life, as well?

And why was Master Roshi brought back to life by the wish? The old man had died from using the Mafuba, not from an attack by the demon. Why didn't anyone else notice...?

But there was no time to focus on that. Goku was training with god. Goku was going to be at the next Budoukai. Shenlong told them so. The dragon informed everyone at the island that they had three years to prepare for the next World Tournament. It wasn't an invitation, it was an order. Then the dragon faded. Tenshinhan was going to have to try and be prepared to defend a Championship that he wasn't certain he should have even won in the first place against an opponent who was now being trained by a local deity. A lifetime worth of training hadn't been enough to slow Goku down much, at the 22nd Budoukai. What was he supposed to do, in just three years, to be ready for the next tournament?!

That, in a nutshell, had been Tenshinhans worst day ever. Nothing since had come close. He'd had to adjust his entire way of thinking because of that day. He had learned too much to be considered anything like normal again and he hadn't often been considered normal, to begin with. It had taken eleven years - most of which had been spent training - for Tenshinhan to recover some of the confidence that he'd felt back when he was twenty, before all the disaster. He was thirty now. That was old, for an assassin. Especially in a world where death was not permenant. He had constantly expected to be under attack from assorted enemies, rivals and reincarnated victims. Not so much by former teachers, after the events of the chaotic 23rd Budoukai.

Not so much by hostile aliens coming down from outer space.

Even less, from himself.

But... Much as Tenshinhan hated to admit this... It made sense.

**ooxoo**

**Y**ajirobe was in the best shape that anyone could reasonably expect for a samurai to be, after spending the better part of the previous evening fleeing from a small mobile avalanche. He could have attacked but hadn't wanted to destroy the little girl behind the cloud of snow. Because he'd seen this girls reflection in his divine sword once. He wondered if she had seen it too. Yajirobe wasn't sure what it meant. "When did that kid learn Telekinesis?!"

"That's not a good question." Chaozu sighed. He wasn't used to having such dangerous company. And it wasn't just the samurai, in this case, who had camped out on the sofa and who had been exhausted enough to sleep without beheading anyone that wandered past. It was his new student.

Ranshin had, upon being defeated and brought indoors, gotten some rest and recovered. Then she had explored the cabin for a while. Then she had discovered and taken over the study. All the books on energy combat had drawn her in like a magnet. She was five. She couldn't read books very well. But she was psychic. She could read minds. And once the books were open, it hadn't taken her too long to realize that she could use one skill to try and improve the other. Anytime she came across something in a book that she didn't understand... She was using peoples brains as if they were dictionaries.

From the study came the sound of pages being turned. Stopping Ranshin would not have been difficult. But... Well... She WAS supposed to be learning, right? And it kept her occupied, out of the way.

Yajirobe normally lived around Korin. He knew that any 'not a good question' could be translated to 'not a good answer'. And that was not comforting. But he also knew better than to press for answers that he wasn't sure he really wanted to know. So he switched topics. Because he'd overheard something, in the talks yesterday, that he DID really want to know more about. "Explain to me again, about the limits."

Chaozu did.

Eleven years ago, for around a day, Chaozu had been dead. His body had been capsulized. Reincarnation had been a surprise. Chaozu hadn't seen his own future. And he hadn't known about the dragonballs having such power. But after overcoming the initial surprise and some private trauma related to pocket lint, he'd adapted easily to his second chance at life. Because his body had only been a corpse for around one day.

Around a year ago, against the invading Saiyans... Chaozu had accidently self-destructed. Tenshinhan had been killed. So there had been nothing left of Chaozu to capsulize after that battle but his best friend... Had been a corpse. Capsulized. Kept in someones pocket, maybe. For nearly a whole year. And being capsulized could protect a corpse from insects and weather and all sorts of things - but not from time. Not from natural decay.

Mind, body, soul. When the body is dead but the soul keeps on getting stronger...

Tenshinhan was out of balance.

And only Tenshinhan was out of balance.

There were two other warriors who had died without blowing up at the battle against the Saiyans. Piccolo had died on Earth and had, after about a month, been reincarnated on another world. Piccolo had gone straight into the battles against Freezia. Reincarnation sickness hadn't affected the green warrior. Why should it? He was Namekian. He had the ability to regenerate limbs. Any natural decay of the corpse could be healed like an injury and that was without adding in the magic of being spirit-bound to an immortal. Kami must have helped his nephew recover. Meanwhile Yamucha was human and had been dead for nearly half a year. Perhaps he should have been out of balance as well but the answer for why he wasn't - it was on his face. The bandit was scarred. He had a crimson line running down through his left eye and a cross on his right cheek. All warriors had a scar or two from battle. Not many kept the scars while dead. But even as a ghost, Yamucha had been scarred. There was something about those marks on his face that carried over to his soul. The bandit was cursed and yet must have also been preserved by his scars. By all accounts Yamucha'd had more trouble revoking his death certificate than adapting to being alive again.

And that left just Tenshinhan, who had - in this case - the misfortune of being a triclops. Which made him more spiritually sensitive, when he was healthy. But he wasn't healthy. His body was a corpse. His soul had grown in power. He was out of sync. So his third eye... Physically it was fine but spiritually, it was slowly shutting down. A regular person might have just gotten sick. For a triclops... Losing the function of an active third eye was a step towards death. Because the eye wanted to function and would literally die trying.

The assassin had taken the news fairly well, all things considered, and had left the cabin after being informed of his options. He had spent the night outdoors. Wandering in solitude, powered up enough to avoid freezing and guarding his mind. It was hard to know what he would ultimately decide.

"So if you blow him up and then wish him back to life... " Yajirobe wanted to make sure he understood this. "Then he gets a new body, that can contain his improved soul and... New limits..."

"Yes." Chaozu was not fond of the idea of blowing up his best friend. But Tenshinhans own power was no longer stable enough to ensure that he could accomplish the feat without help. And the alternative was not a good question but it was still there. And so if Tenshinhan, a professional assassin who respected the need for death, chose to die and remain dead this time... Chaozu had to be prepared to accept that version of the future.

The samurai understood the challenges. If someone wanted to live then they had to have a reason for living. And if being reincarnated was going to make the warrior stronger... Then there had to be a reason for that, as well. How much stronger might the adult triclops become? Tenshinhan was already a dangerous warrior. Why would he want to become more dangerous? And if Tenshinhan did choose to be reincarnated for a second time... Then he would be a step closer to death number three which not even the dragonballs could undo.

And the samurai also understood something else: _I've never been reincarnated._

"Uhm. So... How long would it take, to get wished back?" Yajirobe was not terrible at sounding casual when he had an agenda but he was helped a lot by the fact that hardly anyone was paying much attention to the motives behind his sudden interest in this subject. And also by the fact that he had learned, from living around gods, how to guard certain aspects of his mind.

"The dragonballs should activate in about twenty days." Chaozu was thinking that his best friend might die naturally - if the soul rejecting the body could be called naturally - before then. So the decision would have to be made soon.

It was not ideal circumstances. Tenshinhan, if he chose to be reincarnated, might end up stuck in the afterlife for a couple of weeks or so and given the battles that were going on there... With the witch violently reducing the ghost population... Chaozu would have felt better, if they could have waited. He would have preferred to let the dragonballs activate first and then his friend could have been wished back right away and...

Oh. Wait. Shenlong, the Eternal Dragon of Earth, was also part of the battles raging in the afterlife. If the dragon was fighting... What if the dragonballs didn't activate at all?

Chaozu didn't know WHY he hadn't thought of this before. He chalked it up to stress and interference from other psychics. No wonder the witch had given up the whole set of dragonballs! It wasn't like her, to do favors so easily. There was always a price with the witch - that was her reputation. The dragonballs had to be worthless to Madame Baba, if she was willing to just let them go. Ha. Of course they were! The witch was getting her powers back and... What if SHE killed the dragon?

An ugly sliver of the possible near future revealed itself.

Chaozu couldn't risk dying again, to participate in it. But Tenshinhan could. And Tenshinhan, whether he wanted to be reincarnated or not, was going to end up there and... And... Yajirobe... Was here. With a sword. A divine sword. A divine sword could be taken into the afterlife, couldn't it? Yes. And Shenlong could reincarnate more than one person at once. As long as they didn't die from natural causes. As long as they hadn't been reincarnated with the Earth set of dragonballs before. As long as the witch didn't destroy their souls.

_Korin, _Chaozu did not always enjoy being reminded that the local immortals were psychic too, _knew this would happen. _He looked at the samurai. "How do you feel about dying for a while?"

Yajirobe thought he'd been guarding his mind better but he reacted without much surprise. "I'd rather not." He was rapidly aware that he truly did not feel that new limits were worth this kind of risk. He'd survived a lot of battles in the past. He was proud to have survived them. Why stop surviving things now? He was mortal. It was normal to be afraid of death, right? And his goals... He DID have reasons to live.

The samurai was not aware that he was about to be given a reason to die.

"I think Kami might need some help in the afterlife." said Chaozu.

Yajirobe was, by now, already to the door. He had a loyal heart but his survival instincts were connected directly to his feet and they had made the decision to head for the exit. He used his best 'don't kill the messenger' voice. "Maybe we should get the others..."

"No." Chaozu was thinking quickly and spoke in a brisk business tone to match. "Kuririn has already died twice. He can't be wished back again, not unless we get new artifacts. Killing Piccolo so that he can join a battle in the afterlife makes no sense when the goal is to save Kami. Gohan is six and frankly, if his future turns out to be even half the adventure that his fathers life has already been then that kid needs to conserve all his potential reincarnations for a later date. Not to mention that his mother would be inclined to permenantly kill us all just for asking the kid. And Yamucha... His mansion was leveled, remember? And we're in the mountains. I can't detect him. I have no idea where he is staying now but even if we could get ahold of him, I somehow doubt that he'd want to be invited over to die."

"What about..." The more Yajirobe thought about it, the less he liked the idea of being blown up. So what if the operation was performed by a trained professional assassin? He was a samurai. He was a war veteran. Even if the process of dying was handled professionally, the prospect of being dead... Yajirobe _knew_ a lot of people who were dead. And the idea of meeting any of those people again was a chilling one. But... Honor. The samurai stood with a hand on the doorknob yet he couldn't quite bring himself to leave. His feet were screaming for a hasty departure but his honor code was putting on the breaks. As the apprentice of an immortal, he _was_ sworn to defend the local gods. He'd never expected to be needed for this but... Yajirobe stalled. He would leave, for sure, just as soon as he found an honorable excuse for leaving. "What about Roshi? He's only been reincarnated once and -"

"That we know of." interrupted Chaozu and because he was a trained assassin and skilled psychic, he took a moment to telekinetically block every exit of the cabin. "Roshi is nearly four hundred years old. For all we know, he could have been reincarnated before. Anyway if we sent him to the afterlife then he might just side with his sister!"

"Korin would side with her!" Yajirobe pointed out, now aware that the doorknob was not turning. Also aware, on a more practical level, that of course the immortal cat would send his apprentice to do a job that the cat himself didn't dare to. That was practically the definition of the word 'apprentice' - someone who did the work that the master didn't want to do. "How can anyone stand against her? I'm not trained against magic!"

"Your sword is!"

"But... Who is going to take care of the senzu, if I get killed?"

**ooxoo**

**T**wenty-one children stood huddled together at the rim of the Lookout, staring down at the Earth from the island in the sky. It was a long way down. But the Lookout was still parked. So there was the top of Korins Tower, right there. These children were Korins students. They had been training with the cat for a week before coming up to the Lookout. And ever since the apprentices to the guardianship had departed... Korin had also been absent. So the kids were stuck in the company of Mister Popo, who was polite but mostly ignored them and tended to his gardens. And seeing the gardens at the Lookout had reminded the children of another kind of plant. Nobody had TOLD them to try and take care of it but...

Nary was farmer. "It's gotta be watered, right?"

"It did make all of us feel better." Rita added, wringing her hands. "We might need that medicine again, especially if that little gray cat comes back up here to spar with us some more."

Words was forced to agree. He still had some scratches from that little grey cat. Trying not to sound like someone who was sulking, he grumbled. "Could be useful."

Mister Popo floated past, in the background of the palace gardens. He paused to prune a hedge. This was quite an involved process. Mister Popo didn't use a clippers. Instead he used the sort of tools that people more often used for building detailed model boats inside of bottles - the tools were tiny. The hedge was being pruned on a molecular level. The elfin immortal liked being thorough. Mister Popo was not totally ignoring the children, he was just very good at acting like he was. He would send the flying carpet out to do any needed rescues but... Mortals had to be allowed to experiment. That was part of the learning process.

The children were not aware of their safety net. Going down, Shirley decided as she looked at the view, was going to be harder than flying up. There were many reasons for this, gravity was the first one. Flying without making her energy visible was the second one - that might be harder to do, when basically trying to steer a fall. And the third one...

Shirley had never taken care of a plant. She didn't feel qualified to take care of such an important one. Senzu... It had made all of the children feel better, even just to drink some weak tea made from boiling a few leaves of this plant. The white cat had made the tea for them, when they'd first arrived at the tower. The white cat had given them new clothes and let them train. The white cat believed that they could become heros. And the white cat owned these strange plants. The children felt a debt of gratitude to the white cat. They didn't want to mess up.

So Shirley was going to be carrying someone down. Nary was the best choice because he knew the most about plants. But Shirley wasn't comfortable with this idea because the extra weight would make the fall more difficult for her to control. And Nary, who regarded her as an alien, wasn't comfortable with the idea of wrapping his arms around her and trusting his life to her. And Words, who was nine years old but already mentally dating Shirley, had developed a visible twitch. He'd told the other children it was a sort of hiccup but they all knew better, even the youngest. Except for Shirley, who had remained oblivious of the boys admiration.

"Let's get this over with." Shirley decided. She pulled the energy around herself, concentrated, stepped out onto the air and hovered. It was a clear strain on her, to hover at this altitude.

Nary hesitated, unable to forget the aliens who had killed so many people and then abruptly turned to Rita. "You're the one who knows about medicine! Just go and look and see if the plant is sick..."

"But... I..." Rita and Nary were the same age - ten. But Rita was smaller. It wasn't difficult for Nary to shove her towards what, in her mind, still registered as A Long Way Down.

Words recovered from his recent outbreak of envious twitching and joined the shove. "Yes! You go and have a look! That's a much better idea!"

Rita felt pure air under her feet and screamed. She started to drop and then...

"Please don't do that." Grumbled Shirley, her eyes closed and her pointy ears vibrating with the noise. It was fine with her if she had to carry a smaller person - less weight. She hauled the terrified Rita up and patiently instructed. "I need to be able to see where I'm going and I might need to channel some energy through my hands. So climb around to my back, if you don't want to die."

Rita shakily complied.

"We'll return. Unless she screams again." Shirley muttered, feeling a bit too much like a human elevator.

She glanced down to make sure the Tower was centered under her feet then released her energy and dropped.

**ooxoo**

**A **room full of paper. Open books and folders and scrolls... So much information. Ranshin didn't know exactly what she was searching for - but it wasn't here. How could it not be here? The books were full of complicated diagrams and long descriptions of energy techniques... Ranshin didn't understand it all. But a warrior had to power up, for most of these things. A warrior had to have a lot of power, to even attempt some of them. That... No. Why? Ranshin was disappointed. It just seemed... Wrong. She was impressed by the records of these techniques but... They didn't interest her. She thought of the neglected shrine in the woods for Master Mutaito. She thought of the Crane Masters books, the ones that she'd lost and how much she wished that she could find them now. She thought of the throw-it-all-back-at-them attack, which her new teacher keep telling her was called Noushiken.

She thought of telekinesis and flying and reversals and energy shields.

There was a thread here. It was not just about power. So there had to be something else. Something that would work, even against stronger opponents. Maybe even from far away. Something that would be reliable. Something that might explain how these warriors came back from death or survived exploding planets or...

Ranshin closed a book, frustrated. Most of these books were all about energy attacks. No defense. How had these warriors lived?

A scroll tumbled to the floor, unraveling as it bounced down from a high shelf. There was an image on the front of this scroll. The once bright colors had faded with age but overall, it was still a rather effective advertisement. Centered in the middle was the symbol of a stylized crane perched atop... Ranshin didn't even need to see the whole thing. Master Mutaitos school! It was an old advertisement for his dojo! At least, that's what it looked like. The writing painted on the front had faded. She leapt down from the table and picked this scroll up very carefully and while doing so, suddenly noticed that all down the back of this poster... Was more writing. Handwriting. That hadn't faded.

She couldn't read it. She tried, anyway. But the language didn't seem right. This handwriting... She wasn't much of a judge. She couldn't read very well at all. But it wasn't like the language in the books. Maybe it was a different language? Ranshin chose to seek some help. She looked at the minds of the world...

And became aware of the two that were physically closest to her, first.

And one of those minds...the samurai?...was firmly insisting that it really and sincerely did NOT want to be blown up, not even temporarily.

Which seemed worth investigating. Because if anything was going to be blown up nearby, Ranshin wanted to have some warning. But the door of the study was now sealed with telekinesis. And it wasn't her, doing that.

_Adults... _Ranshin thought of the barrier that she'd flown through, back at that weird place in the desert with the crystal ball ghosts. She gathered her energy without powering up, concentrating. Ranshin stared at the door until the hinges fell off it. She took a step back and the door crashed to the ground._ ...can't turn your back on them._

She raised two fingers to her third eye and filled the cabin with dazzling light. Sure, the warriors could detect her energy. And they could hear the small bells on her jacket. And the pale warrior - Ranshin still thought of her newest teacher this way sometimes - could detect her mind. But at least now she had their attention.

No. She didn't. Because they could still detect each other.

The samurai was a blur of movement - had he just gone up a wall? - with a drawn sword. The pale warrior was enveloped in blue energy that was visible even in the dazzling light. Once the light faded, the opposite wall became visible. And so did all the weapons protruding from it. There were eight other swords... And they were starting to move again, even now. The blades removed themselves from the wall and began levitating. Three of them had left strange gashes in the wall.

Ranshin had the distinct unspoken feeling that she should just stay out of the way. But this was not coming from inside her - it was a telepathic suggestion from outside. On the inside, she was reminding herself that she had promised not to run away anymore. True, the battle between adults was none of her business. But Sensei Jitsugen had wanted her to defend other people. And even Chao-san had challenged her to consider standing up for Earth. And so maybe this was just another part of her training. A test, to see what she would do.

What could she do? Telekinesis had been the main focus of her training so her teacher probably wanted her to use that. Ranshin knew better than to try and seize control of any of the levitating swords. She glanced over her shoulder at the study, retreated, secured the recently discovered but unreadable scroll in her jacket and _then_ concentrated.

A room full of paper hovered.

Ranshin stepped forward and turned on her heels, bells jingling and her long indigo braid flung past her face with force of her movement. The room full of paper left the study. Not all of it went out neatly through the door. Some of it went through the wall. The cabin creaked in protest.

The samurai went across the ceiling, to avoid paper cuts. The pale warrior dropped the eight swords to mentally seize the paperwork. But that was just one hand. The other hand was charging a blast on each fingertip...

The room went dazzling again. But it wasn't Ranshin, that had thrown it this time. And it wasn't the pale warrior, either. Instead... An energy signature that really should not be able to sneak up on anyone capable of detecting energy... Had.

Assassins could do that.

The assassin was a pillar of shadow and billowing cape, in the fading bright light. The samurai could see him and detect his energy. The pale warrior could see him, detect his energy and read his mind. Ranshin could see him, detect his energy, glimpse his mind and view his soul. And his soul was infected or something. It _looked_ infected. The spirit wasn't completely inside the body and there was an angry sort of friction that spread like a rash. Ranshin didn't know what to think of the sight. It was painful to even see. He had three eyes but... The third one was mostly empty, only a flicker of energy radiating from it as if a candle was burning low. He had the form of a strong person but the energy of someone being tortured. It was not a comfortable presence to be around.

And if he could get this strange sickness... How? What had caused this? Was it contagious?

Ranshin took a few steps back, in spite of all her resolve to not run away anymore.

"I don't have a choice." Tenshinhan was calm, it was something he was good at. Being a professional assassin tended to require the ability to be calm, especially on the issue of death. He had tried to communicate with telepathy but even that skill was not working for him at the moment - and he was not aware that this was at least partially due to the strange texture of a certain kids aura - so he'd returned to the cabin to speak to his friend. He was consciously ignoring everyone else. "Either I get blown up or I let the decay proceed. The end result is the same. I will die."

Chaozu had to summon every ounce of diplomacy he possessed to match his friends calm. "Yes. But do you want to be brought back?"

"I doubt that will be an option. Even if the dragonballs are working..." Tenshinhan did not have to remind his friend that, as a professional killer... He was likely to cross paths with a few familiar souls. And not friendly ones. Former victims could hardly be expected to be friendly.

Chaozu was privately grateful for the fact that Tenshinhans recent attempt to prune the Mutaito family tree had been a near complete failure. If too many of those spirits had gone to the afterlife...

The warriors had only escaped from this sort of fate last time because of the mandatory training with King Kai. Or North Kaio-sama, as some people like to call the god. Another immortal with a lot of titles. Anyway. The friends had spent their whole time dead on the blue gods world - once they'd gotten to his world, anyway - and hadn't seen another soul. Well. Hardly another soul. Piccolo had been there for about a week. Yamucha had been there for almost half a year. Oh and there had been those Ginyu-things that they'd punted off King Kais planet, in a battle that hadn't even taken whole minutes.

Hrm. The afterlife. King Kais high gravity planet was there. Lord Enmas office was there. Princess Snakes palace was there. And there were other immortals as well, undoubtedly. The universe was big enough for all sorts of strange things to be believed in. And how many of those gods were going to step in against the witch? Probably none. The gods all had their own realms and duties to attend to. The witch was mortal and she was, as far as anyone knew for certain, an Earthling. That made her Kamis problem. And Kami, who was past the age of five hundred in Earth years, was viewed as young by the other gods. Young gods were treated like mortals, sometimes. Only someone who had been on King Kais planet might have noticed this. Young gods... They had to be allowed to make some mistakes. Even Korin was willing to stand back. Which was either a serious warning or a sign that things might not be as dreadful as they seemed. With the tiger, you could never be sure which side of the stripes was the right side. Both sides had claws.

"Please choose." Chaozu insisted, his voice breaking. "The dragonballs should activate in about twenty days. If they do, would you care to be reincarnated again?"

"No."

Silence.

Eventually Tenshinhan shrugged. "I'm not dying to save any artifacts. I'm dying because I'm dying." He paused and added, with the first hints of anxiety. "Given the nature of the decay... I would prefer to be blown up." He glanced towards the samurai who had worked his way down from the ceiling. "Or beheaded."

Yajirobe was starting to grasp that the other warriors in this cabin were also likely to be well-known in the afterlife. And whether or not they cared about saving the local guardian or any magical artifacts, he kind of did. He'd kind of been sworn to. Besides, if they didn't find a way to stop the witch before she returned to Earth... Would she return to Earth in a bad mood? That could be a disaster.

And while the adults were thinking about ghosts and death and gods... Ranshin had followed their minds even more than their words. Her own memories surrounded her. After the Crane Masters death, it was the ghosts who had been her best teachers. The ghosts who had helped her to understand and adapt to living in the outside world. Even when she'd run away from Sensei Jitsugens dojo, she'd had ghosts to keep her company and offer advice. All the spirits had ever asked in return was to be heard, to have their messages passed on to living relatives. Clean your sock drawer once in a while, call your brother, happy birthday - things like that meant so much to ghosts. It was oddly endearing.

The ghosts had saved Ranshin from the dark clouds. She had seen her genetic sister, Proto4A as a ghost. She had seen the Crane Master as a ghost. She had seen a giant monster in the sky once - had that been a ghost? She had learned telekinesis from watching the crystal ball ghosts at the strange place in the desert and... And... She hadn't seen any regular ghosts on Earth lately. Where had they all gone? Had something happened to them? Ranshin felt that she owed a degree of loyalty to the ghosts. She also felt the ancient scroll tucked under her jacket. The scroll with the mark of Master Mutaitos school and the handwriting that she couldn't read. She had so many questions and she couldn't read the answers. But if she could just ask... Master Mutaito had been dead _for hundreds of years_. If HE was a ghost... Was this afterlife the place to find him?

"I want to go too!" Someone shouted.

It took Ranshin a few startled moments to realize that this had been her. She knew that death was going to be involved in this journey but she also knew that two of the warriors here had been dead before. So if they could find a way back... And they talked about it so casually... Then why should she be worried about death? She wasn't. And now, that sort of worried her.

The samurai was the first to react to this outburst and his thoughts were not censored. He was a samurai but for a while his mind did the mental equivalent of a pirate flag. Eventually the urge to smack the girl passed and the thoughts returned to streams of words which included the idea that, as an honorable and experienced warrior, he could not refuse to enter a dangerous fight if a little kid was willing to go into it.

The battle against the Saiyans had been different - Gohan had never been intended to actually get involved in that. The boy had been trained, in case but... What Yajirobe had been told was that the boy was going to sit on the sidelines, watch, learn and be there to wave hello to his reincarnated father. That was it. That was what Yajirobe had been lead to believe. By immortals. Who were psychic. And he'd trusted them. He still trusted them, just not quite in the same way. Because now he understood that gods would not always tell you everything. But back then... So of course, the samurai had not been too bothered about the whole prospect of battling hostile invading aliens and had stepped away from the fight to deliver some messages to East Capital City, feeling that the other warriors had the situation well under control. If the samurai had known for an instant how things were truly going to turn out... He would have been at the battlefield. Samurai were sworn to masters. But samurai were public servants, as well. They had been the police before the police had been invented. There had been some good, some bad and some corrupt but... The code. Even if kids were just adults in training, a battlefield was a lousy place to train.

"How does this blowing people up work?" Yajirobe grumbled. "And you're a hundred percent sure that I can take the sword with me?"

Chaozu was the next to recover from being stunned. As a person, the notion of blowing up anyone - especially a kid - was not pleasant. Although he HAD nearly killed the girl at least twice before and had been tempted, on more than few other occasions. But he'd never sincerely enjoyed the idea. Now though, as a teacher... He'd only gotten to train the kid for... Not even two full weeks. She had a lot of skills but not much power. Maybe she needed to practice? But there was no way she was ready for... But... If she got reincarnated... Her limits would change, too. IF she got reincarnated. And in the afterlife... Would she become... A monster? Maybe this would be a good test, to find out. He still didn't like the idea but...

He found a measure of sanity by clinging to the conversation. "The sword is divine, Yaji-san. It's basically immortal, in other words. Immortal things can go to the afterlife."

"Nobody needs to come with..." Tenshinhan was recovering from shock. An assassin is not someone who is accustomed to the idea of having friends in a battle. He'd been happy when the invading Saiyans had wanted to fight one-on-one. That was more his style, as well.

"Blowing up can be done in many ways. It's mostly about the distribution of concentrated energy." Chaozu was fighting for a neutral tone. He had no desire to show a triclops how to self-destruct. Tenshinhan already knew because he'd seen the accidental attack once in the past but the kid... If she saw it, she'd learn it. That's what third eyes could do. And that was a good reason for Chaozu to avoid using any of the other attacks that he'd learned as well. Besides, the Perfectly Evil Dodonpa was new for him. Freezia had invented it, Kuririn had captured the idea in a rough draft and Chaozu had finalized it. But he had not practiced that attack yet. So he wasn't about to use that. He didn't want to go with a new attack at a time like this. And he wouldn't have to. He'd known Telekinesis for most of his life. "Thankfully, we have another option." Chaozu landed and levitated three swords. "Remember these?"

One masterwork. Two enchanted.

"They still look plain." Tenshinhan folded his arms. If a kid wanted to die - fine. Assassins could be equal opportunity. But he did not want to be stuck as a ghostly babysitter.

Ranshin looked at the swords and privately disagreed. They were plain looking but they were not plain. You could tell them apart if you... Then she caught the term 'babysitter' in the warriors mind and disagreed even more strongly. The concept was not unfamiliar to her but... The word had never made much sense. She wasn't a baby! She'd never needed a sitter! What kind of person sat on small children, anyway? And if that's not what the word meant then why did the adults call it that? Adults were just weird. Was it any wonder that learning to read could be so difficult? The languages had all been invented by adults!

"If the Whisker of the White Cat hits an opponent, they vanish. And sometimes, the world might get a brand new cat. I know that." Yajirobe was mildly comforted by the concept that at least he might be dying at swordpoint. He spoke with the authority of someone who had used each of these blades - or who had seen them used. "And the Akemashite Omedetogozimasu can induce crippling hangovers along with the tendency to make impossible resolutions, at the very least. And The Point of Being Sincere..."

"Eats an opponents soul. And then spits it out again." Tenshinhan knew that story. He couldn't tell which of the swords was the masterwork but he'd heard about that one.

"Yes." Chaozu sighed, he was both feeling and sounding an age that he never looked. His student wanted to die. His best friend wanted to stay dead. Even the samurai was resigned to this fate now. It was logical but not fun. When did death become logical? Anyway. It was the future. In the past, as an Emperor, he'd seen plenty of duels. They'd been scheduled as a sort of entertainment. It hadn't always been a good show. Chaozu knew what could happen when magics collided. "And if all three blades hit you at once, guess what? You'll blow up."

There was another thing on his mind, aside from the grief and the struggle to rationalize that death might be undoable. Although the grief was now taking up a large part of his mind. Death being undoable didn't make it undone. Killing someone and wishing them back did not change the fact that you'd killed them, that they'd spent some time dead. And what if they didn't want to come back? Goku was alive but had refused to return to Earth after the battle with Freezia. The eternal dragons had not been able to grant the wish, to force Goku to come home. A decision, once made, was respected. Tenshinhan wanted to stay dead. They'd both been threatened with death for ages and actually dead before but... This seemed more final. Perhaps only because there was time to think about it. And it was hard for Chaozu to contemplate losing the only person on Earth that he'd ever fully trusted, a friend and business partner that could never be replaced. Practically a brother. Chaozu had known his family but not very well, after taking the throne. And he hadn't always been able to trust them, either. And even though the afterlife was not an entirely bad place... It was not as if they could remain penpals or anything.

Being under the influence of such emotions as might be expected... Chaozu let his guard down a tiny bit. And the other thing on his mind sort of leaked through that gap.

Ranshin saw the mental image. Two corpses. Twisted. Familiar. A boy with a white tail, Proto9A. A girl with a lot of knives, Proto2A. In that instant, Ranshin knew that two more of her genetic siblings were dead. Which meant two more ghosts to seek out. And then, with a startled blink, she thought of another four. The genetics who had died in the labs, the ones who had been killed by androids. There might even be more than Ranshin knew about. Some of them had been dead before she was created. She'd heard about 5A...

This caused a new line of thought. If genetic children built in underground labs could become ghosts... Then could androids...?

Ranshin had detonated Android 10 and Android 11. Would they be in this afterlife place?

Well. Let them be there, if they dared. She'd detonate them again. And if those lousy robots had threatened any of her deceased siblings, so help them... That settled it! She was going! Nobody was going to talk her out of...

To an average person, this was not a normal train of thought. Ranshin was not aware of this. She was too angry with androids to be aware of much else. She might have felt a bit more sympathy towards or admiration for the people around her, if she'd been paying attention. These particular warriors were all trained to not show emotion and so they weren't but their energy... Negative numbers were still numbers. Hidden feelings were still felt.

But once committed to the idea, they were past being afraid of it.

"Find Piccolo." Yajirobe was advising as they went outside, having reached the conclusion that being blown up indoors would create a mess. "If you can detect him, you'll know that Kami is still living. If they're still alive then the dragonballs should be repairable at any rate. Take them the senzu, if you still have those. I would like to be wished back."

With that said Yajirobe put away The No Ken and carefully placed his hands together, entwining his fingers. He closed his eyes and bowed his head. To a regular person, this was the body language of prayer. To a hospital employee or dental assistant, this was the body language of a doctor who had just washed their hands and put the gloves on and who did not want to touch anything before the operation began. To a trained martial artist but especially a swordsman... This was the body language of a person who was going to try very hard to consciously suppress a lifetime of rigid training and reflexes honed in a war. When a samurai folded their hands, it was a gesture of surrender because what it meant was that they weren't going to reach for their own sword when the next attack came. To not block the attack when you knew it was coming... Was challenging.

Swish. Pow. Three swords spun through the air and did their work well. Where the samurai had been was now just a crater in deep snow.

Tenshinhan was next. Professional warrior and assassin though he was, he was also starting to suffer. And if he remained alive then the suffering would get worse. And conventional medicine had only ever tried to sell him an eye patch or a cosmetic surgery, so he couldn't expect them to have a cure. Modern medicine believed in energy but had yet to describe the soul, that was too controversial. Senzu might be able to reverse some of the physical decay but that wouldn't address the root of this problem. Death represented freedom from physical limits. Freedom from physical pain. Death was natural. How could he not choose to die? He'd always believed in the need for death. It balanced life. He shook his friends hand, grateful that Chaozu could read his mind and eliminate the need to make farewell speeches.

Chaozu was just grateful that telekinesis was practically second nature for him. He hardly needed to think about it. If he had needed to think about it, he couldn't have.

That left Ranshin, who had just watched two people get blown up. She was trembling but still looked determined. Her energy was not radiating fear. Definitely not an average kid. The levitating swords hesitated.

"Are you hiding a scroll under your jacket?" Chaozu was bewildered. Recent events aside, now that he was looking at her... He could clearly see that she was hiding a scroll under her jacket. Why? "I don't think it can go to the afterlife with you..." He held out a hand. She reluctantly removed the scroll from her jacket, stepped forward and returned the scroll. Chaozu recognized the scroll immediately. This was one of the scrolls that his distant ancestors had taken notes on while listening to Master Mutaito lecture about using the soul for self-defense.

Shugendo.

_I can't even read these anymore... Did she?_

The swords blurred. Ranshin flinched at the sound of their movement, reasoned that she was next and closed her eyes. People blowing up didn't bother her too much because she'd come from a place where robots blew up. The prototypes were always falling apart or blowing up. And the actual androids... She'd detonated two of them, since departing the labs. So being blown up herself... This method of death had always been risk, it was hard to be too frightened of something so familiar. At least it would be quick. Ranshin cringed at the sound of dull thudding. She opened her eyes after a long moment, blinked and patted herself in mild surprise. She wasn't dead. The blades were embedded into the snow.

"Let's call this a final test." Chaozu decided, going back to teacher mode. "If you really want to die... You know how to levitate objects. And you've seen how I did it, just now. So..." _And if you don't, then you are going to stay here and train until I have a better chance to understand your future._

This was the sort of situation where a nervous student might hesitate, fumble and make mistakes. Chaozu was almost hoping for that. He could prevent any lethal mistakes. He just wanted to give the kid the chance and then he could walk away from the whole scenario, without taking any blame for not letting her try. If she was ready, she would find a way. But he was kind of hoping that she would fail.

Unfortunately, perhaps, Ranshin was the type who could became more focused when nervous. She bowed, it was a gesture of respect. She had learned that back at the dojo. It seemed so long ago. Sensei Jitsugen... He hadn't been doing well at the hospitals where she'd last seen him. Maybe he was a ghost by now? Ranshin really didn't want to mess this up. She didn't want to let any of let her teachers down. She didn't want to let the ghosts down. She knew that the swords would only give her one chance to get this right. She levitated them carefully, one at a time. She took a few practice swings in the air to make sure the blades were all swinging together. This did not go well at first. She couldn't get them synchronized. But then... She felt her heart was pounding. It gave her an idea. If she latched the swords to the energy of her own heartbeat...

Ranshin bowed again. She latched the swords to her heart and released the energy, as they swung towards her. Momentum did the rest. They all struck her.

A new crater in the snow. A life ended.

**ooxoo**

**E**lsewhere on Earth, a life began. The magic of three swords had collided and this was a random side effect. Except that nothing in this universe was truly random. So perhaps what was taking shape here... Had been sliced from the soul of another and then influenced by the magic of the swords.

The creature staggered into existence in a half-ruined city. It went through a few twisted shapes and then settled on being a cat. It was not the sort of cat that would ever inspire poetry. It was not a kitten who could ever win a prize for best of show. No, this was the sort of cat that looked like a picture where a hyper child had failed to color inside the lines. This was the sort of cat that looked like it had played in an electric fence. This cat was wild-eyed and mangy with ears that were serrated and a tail that was half missing and rusty reddish fur that seemed to be trying to escape from the rest of it. The poor creature stumbled a few steps and collapsed, its legs unable to decide on a single direction. It lay there flat on its stomach, squinted and growled - but not threateningly. More in the manner of someone who has a permanent crippling hangover.

It clenched an unsteady paw, resolved to lose twenty pounds and keep the weight off this time.

After a few moments of self discovery and coughing up a tiny mote of a hairball, the brand new cat realized that it did not have twenty pounds to lose. It realized that it had never had twenty pounds to lose. It wouldn't have twenty pounds to lose if it was soaking wet and holding a bowling ball. What exactly was a bowling ball, anyway? It didn't know. The cat was under four pounds total and it had only been that for a short while. Why did it want to lose weight? It had barely gotten weight. But this poor incoherant feline mind was nagged by the need to make some sort of resolution.

Laying in the dirt, surrounded by crumbling ruins, the red cat clenched its paw a bit further and tried again. This...place... this...city? Where did the words come from? The cat wasn't sure. The words just came. And this city-place was a mess! A desolate ruin. What kind of welcome was this, for a brand new cat?! Someone should take charge!

The cat was not even ten minutes old. It did not have a remotely accurate idea of what the entire world included. However, this also meant that this cat did not know that taking charge of the entire world was not likely to be possible.

It resolved to take over the world.

Having made this decision, it felt slightly better. And lay in the empty street.

Eventually a curious rodent, because cities in any condition are always home to more than just people, came across the mangled form and sniffed. The tiny cat opened one wild eye then hissed and spat a range of noises that no mortal feline vocal chords had been designed for. If an angry thunderclap could be given helium, the resulting sound would be this cats voice. It was a bit squeaky. It was off-key. But there was a rumbling to it. The cat did not speak in human languages - it had no clue that humans existed - but it generally expressed the idea that it was in charge around here.

The completely ordinary city-dwelling feral rat listened, twitched its long whiskers, scowled, bared its teeth and beat the cat up. Easily. The rat then did the traditional one-legged salute towards its defeated opponent, sniffed the air dismissively and began to wander off in arrogant triumphant. But the rat didn't get very far. The brand new, incoherant, rusty red cat was now officially irritated. More irritated. Irritated was its normal state of mind. Not that anything about this cat was normal. Fueled by anger the tiny feline recovered, found its feet with some difficulty, pulled itself off the ground with some reluctance, lurched sloppily and fell more than pounced in the direction of its blurry prey. Still. Even after a badly coordinated and completely graceless struggle, the brand new cat managed to eat the rats soul. And only the rats soul.

And then, as the cat resumed being a small dazed heap on the ground, it clenched a tiny paw and - being less than sane - resolved to lose weight again.

**ooxoo**


	36. Persistence: December 4th, 763 AD

_**Eclipse**_

**by DoraMouse**

**ooxoo**

**Persistence: December 4th, 763 A.D. Again.**

**F**orty-three years ago...

"MOM!"

Another little war in the sandbox, ended by a shriek.

"PILAF WON'T LET ME PLAY RULE THE WORLD AND IT'S NOT FAIR CAUSE IT'S MY TURN!"

A long moment of dread. A rustling by the open kitchen window. A raised adult voice.

"PILAF! FOR CRIMINEYS SAKE, LET YOUR SISTER HAVE A TURN!"

He was five. Blue skin, pointy ears and no hair. He'd stopped physically growing around the age of two, he was short. Even his annoying little sister was taller. But mentally... Pilaf was beyond advanced. He'd gone straight from sleeping all the time to walking, he had never crawled. He'd been too embarrassed to breastfeed. He had changed his own diapers. And he'd been reading the newspaper before he could even stand. At under a year of age, he had spoken his first word - and his parents had gotten out a dictionary to see what it meant. The family had invested in a sandbox only because they couldn't seem to keep their first born contained in a playpen. He was perpetually taking things apart in the house. Their second child was more average. The parents had secretly hoped for this to be contagious. They loved their boy but he drove them up as wall sometimes, with all his wild ideas.

Genius though he was, Pilaf was also still a child. He glared at his sister, who was now making a face at him. His bottom lip quivered. "But... I wanna... rule the world."

"DON'T MAKE ME COME OUT THERE!" shouted his mother.

**ooxoo**

**T**hirty-eight years ago...

The teacher frowned, peering over the rims of her glasses as she looked across her desk. She was often a patient lady - a great teacher - but today her face was wrinkled with mild concern and her voice was struggling to avoid a sigh. "Do you remember what the assignment was?"

Pilaf, age ten, stared at his feet. He was still very short. He fidgeted with his school uniform and mumbled something.

"That's right, dear. An essay about what you did this summer." The teacher was skilled at understanding mumbles. She indicated the stack of paper on her desk. "Susie went to the zoo, you know. And Calvin went camping and fishing. But you... Turned in this..."

In her hands there was an essay titled: 'How I conquered the world'.

Pilaf mumbled again.

"Yes, hon." The teacher sighed. "I understand. Not everyone had an exciting summer break. But you always make up the same adventure. And... You remember the talk we had before, don't you? Do we need to call your parents again?"

Mumble, shuffle, no.

"Look, I'll give you an extra day or two to re-write this. Okay? Just turn it in as soon as you've finished, all right? There's a good boy."

Pilaf took his essay and left the classroom. He clutched the paper over his chest and sniffled. What was so wrong, with this story? It was going to come true, someday.

**ooxoo**

**T**hirty-six years ago...

Bang.

A spray of metal gears. A cloud of colorful smoke.

Age twelve. A runaway. A dropout. Living near a landfill in a cardboard box. But at least out here nobody was going to tease him for being bald, short or blue. Out here, nobody was going to tell him that his dream was impossible. And the landfill smelled awful but it was full of amazing things. Useful amazing things. People threw away perfectly good tools! And parts! There were old cars! And broken appliances! And chemicals! It was everything that a young genius on a budget might need! And anyone with half a brain could pick the locks or climb the fence or...

The guard dog, that had been a little more tricky to get by.

"Uhm. Are you okay?" Said the guard dog, having noticed the explosion. He wore the uniform of a sanitation worker and walked upright. He had a soft spot for runaway delusional maniac children. When you worked at a landfill and saw the amount of waste that people generated on a daily basis... Most humans seemed like delusional maniacs.

_Minions! _Thought Pilaf, as he lay on the ground slightly charred and watched spots dance before his eyes. _That's what I need!_

**ooxoo**

**T**hirty-five years ago...

The plan was foolproof!

Pilaf stood on a crate, inspecting the troops. Brute force! That was the key! And he had designed the perfect weapon! Nobody would expect this assault! Nothing could go wrong! He saluted.

In front of him - but facing each other - stood two long rows of mostly humans. Some were sanitation workers. Others were the homeless and the dumpster divers that Pilaf had recruited. They weren't highly trained soliders. If the weapon worked, they wouldn't need to be. They had sworn loyalty to a crazed blue elfin midget. Most of them thought this was some kind of joke. They were playing along just to humor this poor kid. A few of them were looking around with the expressions of people who expected, at any moment, to see the hidden camera crew.

The troops returned the salute. Some triggers were accidentally pulled.

The newly invented weapon worked.

After a long moment, the guard dog - attracted by the noise - wandered up behind Pilaf. His eyes widened. His nose wrinkled. He squeaked, covered his mouth and ran away with his tail between his legs.

Pilaf stood with one hand on his hip and the other hand resting thoughtfully under his chin. He looked down at the twitching remains of his troops. But it wasn't until the sounds of the guard dog retching reached him that he muttered, in a tone of mild disgust. "Well, that's put me right off." He stepped down from the soap box and went back to his drawing board.

**ooxoo**

**T**hirty-four years ago...

The plan was foolproof!

"Chickens?" Said the guard dog, sounding skeptical.

"Yes." Pilaf, age fourteen, was proud to explain. He stood on his tiptoes. Which did not make him much taller. He was at chest height with the dog. "I made some modifications to my last design. Now, the target will become a..."

The guard dog interrupted. "You want to conquer a world full of chickens?"

"Well, yes." Pilaf did not tolerate interruptions from many creatures but he'd known of this guard dog for nearly two years already. "That IS the whole point. If everyone is a chicken then nobody will be able to oppose..."

"But... Do you think the chickens will care?" Said the guard dog. "I mean, with all due respect, I happen to know some chickens and... They don't really take orders, you see? So... Would it still be called ruling the world, if nobody actually listened to your rules?"

Pilaf stood perfectly still and thought about this for a while.

And then, he thought about it for a while longer.

And then, after the dumptrucks had come and gone and the sun had set, Pilaf went to find the doghouse. Where he rang the doorbell. Angrily. Several times.

The guard dog, who had wandered off after his remark many hours ago, eventually came to the door yawning and wearing pajamas. "Hrm?"

"What is your name?" Pilaf demanded. He hadn't ever asked before.

"Shou." The dog began.

"As of right now, you are my assistant!"

**ooxoo**

**T**hirty-one years ago...

Bang. Crunch. Sizzle.

"AHHH! My car! What the hell is wrong with you?!" Screamed a furious woman. She was tall and petite with high checkbones and shoulder length black hair. She wore long pants, a long sleeved shirt and three different gunbelts. She climbed the fence, frothing slightly at the mouth. "Dammit I just PAID the parking ticket! And they weren't even supposed to tow it here!"

Pilaf - age seventeen - stared at her, turned white and ran away.

He was followed by a few bullets and a scream of: "That cracked windshield is coming out of your hide, mister!"

"Uhm." said Shou timidly, now that he'd finished putting out the flames. He set the fire extinguisher down but decided to leave his safety goggles on for the next phase of damage control. "I know he doesn't look like much, Miss but that kid is a mechanical genius. Why just last week, he built a machine that can sort garbage at a rate of..."

The lady scowled meaningfully. And the meaning was: I don't care.

"What I'm getting at," stammered Shou, "is that he can definitely fix your car, if you don't kill him right away."

"Oh?" Said the lady. Her name was Mai. She didn't like the fleeing blue kid but this dog seemed trustworthy. And besides, she was broke. She needed her car but she couldn't afford repairs. "And how long will that take?"

**ooxoo**

**F**ourteen years ago...

Pilaf was sobbing again. He lay on a padded windowsill with his face buried in his arms and a box of tissues nearby. He was age thirty-four but he still looked five. The outfit didn't help. He wore a bright tunic and a hat with a bobble on the top. He'd always had to shop in the toddler section - it was a sensitive issue.

"The prisoners will die in the morning, Lord Pilaf." Mai said, trying to cheer him up. She hadn't really meant to become a part of this group. But the kid had - at gunpoint - done more than just repair her car all those years ago, he'd given it upgrades. A good mechanic was worth keeping track of. Mai had eventually felt sorry for him. She'd mostly felt sorry for Shou. And their adventures were... Harmless. Interesting. And neither Shou nor Pilaf had been able to drive, so she'd gradually taught them. And, well... The blue midget was truly a genius. It was good to keep track of those, too. He'd done all right. Had sold a few inventions. Pilaf had gone from rooming in a doghouse at a landfill to this - they were in a castle now. And the wealth hadn't even stopped him, he was still focused on ruling the world. She had to admire the determination.

Yes indeed, this tiny blue genius might just conquer the world someday. He probably wouldn't know what to do with the world once he conquered it but that was okay too. Mai had some ideas of her own for that part. It was just too bad that her ideas would have to wait. They had been so close.

"Panties!" sniffled Pilaf, who sounded horrified as well as massively disappointed. He grabbed another handful of tissues. "All the power of the eternal dragon and they wish for..." He burst into tears.

"There, there." Shou spoke soothingly and patted the midgets back. He wore the uniform of a ninja because honestly, nothing else had fit him very well. He was a humanoid dog. These days it seemed like most fabrics irritated either his fur or his nose. Shou hadn't been too picky about what he wore at the landfill because it had been a landfill. He cared more about his appearance as an evil - but not very evil - sidekick. "I'm sure that you'll get to make a wish next time."

Seventeen years. That's how long the three of them had worked together now. Half of Pilafs life. And after seventeen years of waking up each morning and saying "today is the day!"... After seventeen years of watching almost every kind of scheme imaginable backfire... This was what Pilaf had been reduced to. Chasing magical artifacts. And of all the wild plans that could have failed... How strange, that this plan would be the one that had nearly worked. How strange, that these dragonballs would be the things that could lead to world domination. Pilaf had done his research. He'd built a dragonball radar. He'd found one of the things, a glossy orange sphere with a single red star.

That had been a good day. Pilaf had celebrated by splurging and buying them all new clothes. Mai had a long grey trenchcoat, a very stylish cut - she'd picked it out herself. Shou had the ninja uniform. Pilaf had a new hat. And on the front of that hat, right in middle... And on the left shoulder of Mais grey trenchcoat... And over the heart of Shous ninja uniform... Was the design of a single red star. Just like the little star on the glossy orange marble. _That_ was how optimistic they'd been.

The prisoners. Mai tried not to think about them. But her mind kept going back to them. Two boys, a girl and two animals. All so young. Mai had searched the prisoners, while they were unconscious. Pilaf and Shou were both far too shy to search anyone. So Mai had rummaged in their pockets. She'd eventually found the last marble, with four red stars, hidden under the youngest boys shirt. But not before she'd found... Mai bit her lip. She was NOT going to say anything. But the prisoners... Now they were locked up inside the castle, waiting to die. Morning would come soon enough. The sunlight would hit the glass ceiling of the prison and... Would it be very noisy? Or very messy? Mai wasn't sure what to expect or how to feel. They had never had prisoners at the castle before.

Maybe it would be less hassle, all around, to sort of nip down later and just leave the door open and politely ask them all to leave. Yes. That seemed like the most sensible course of action. But that plan would have to wait until Pilaf fell asleep and that might take awhile because the midget was upset. Pilaf had figured out how to steal the rest of the artifacts from that annoying superstrong kid and his friends. They had only needed the hidden one from the boys shirt. Once they'd gotten that, Pilaf had summoned the dragon. Victory had seemed assured. With a few seconds more... But instead Pilaf had been rudely interrupted by some humanoid pig. The wish had been stolen.

"What does a pig even need underwear for?!" Pilaf sobbed, beyond consolation.

The castle creaked. Something was happenening. Mai signaled that she would investigate and took a step towards the hallway.

Dust fell from the rafters. The walls shook. The floor shook. Something roared. It was not a small roar. Shou, suddenly operating on pure animal intuition, picked up Pilaf and grabbed Mai by the arm and leapt out the window. They hit the ground, rolled and lay there for a dazed moment. Behind and above them a giant monster - some kind of red-eyed monkey with fangs - was emerging from the castle walls and stomping the building flat even as it grew. Mai reached for her pistols. But Shou yelped, did not let go of his friends and ran away.

**ooxoo**

**T**hirteen years ago...

"I can't believe our luck!" Pilaf was smiling and clutching a new dragonball radar.

Last September, a pig had made a stupid wish. But this was a new year. It was May. The dragonballs could be used once a year. The artifacts shouldn't have even been active until after September again - but they were. Pilaf had lost everything but his willpower, when the castle was stomped. Mai had kept her car only because it had been in a capsule in her pocket. All of them were broke. They couldn't afford to ask questions. If another wish could be made now, they had to take the chance.

The strong kid was still alive. They knew this. They'd seen him a few days ago, on television reports of the 21st Tenkaichi Budoukai. But they hadn't heard very much about the strong kid because most of the recent news was about the moon. Nobody on the television or the radio seemed to know why the moon had disappeared during the tournament. Maybe it was a bad omen.

But six of the dragonballs were in one place already. And they had the last one. And Pilaf had outdone himself this time, to make sure that the wish would be his. He had the marble locked in a special box. If anyone else in the world had figured out how to build a dragonball radar... The box would hide the dragonball from them. So nobody else in the world could make the wish because nobody else in the world should be able to gather the whole set. They were the only ones.

Mai was driving as fast as she dared. Pilaf was navigating. Shou was sitting in the backseat, holding the box.

A dot on the horizon came towards them. The dot was a cloud. The cloud had a passenger, he was named Goku. Which meant that they were doomed.

Not even twenty full minutes later, Mai was standing by a smoking heap that had formerly been the car. Pilaf was slightly charred, on the ground and sobbing about how unfair life was. Shou was blushing through his fur, since he'd not only had to give up the final dragonball but also his ninja outfit.

"Maybe..." Mai managed, after a few stunned moments. She took off her long trench coat and lent it to Shou, who was modest and accepted it gratefully. "...we should try a different way..."

"No... I... I think... " Pilaf stumbled to his feet and gradually composed himself. "During my research, I read something... And I'll have to do more research but if it's true... Then I _will_ get my wish."

**ooxoo**

**E**leven years ago...

"Curse you, demon!" Pilaf waved a small blue fist in the air.

There was a lot of air. But the ground was coming up fast. Mai was concerned. Shou was falling nearby and had his paws over his eyes.

"Can you believe the nerve of that guy?" Pilaf, age thirty-seven, was outraged. He fell in the calm manner of someone who has been kicked off their own airship before. He fumed, almost visibly, as he tilted and spun - pushed by the winds and the gravity. "We go underwater, we find the jar... He'd been trapped for nearly three hundred years in that jar! You think he'd show some gratitude!"

"Yes, sir." Chorused Mai and Shou in unison.

The demon had promised to let them rule the world if they opened the jar. So Pilaf had opened the jar. But the demon had gotten a wish granted, not Pilaf. And Pilafs airship had departed in the direction of the World Palace. Without them.

"What is the world coming to when you can't even trust a demon?" Pilaf sulked, the air whistling past him.

Mai knew that she might die no matter what she hit but she saw the trees and rolled towards them anyway. She was human and therefore both taller and heavier than either of her friends. She knew that she might be able to break their falls. Perhaps at least one of them would live. Not that living seemed like a great option right now. The ancient green demon was strong, she'd been too frightened to even shoot at him. Could bullets hurt a demon? Maybe not. Stopping the demon might be up to the warriors then and all the best known warriors in the world were likely still recovering from the 22nd Tenkaichi Budoukai. So the whole world was in trouble, probably.

Despite this, Mai wanted to live.

But she didn't. Nor did Shou. Together, they broke Pilafs fall and kept the blue midget alive.

The landscape was all blurry and greyish and foggy and time didn't seem to happen. It was like being underwater. It was worse. Mai felt light enough to drift away and too heavy to move, both at once. She knelt and stared at her remains.

Then someone on Earth defeated the demon. And someone made a wish, even though the demon had recently made one - how were the artifacts useable again? And so all the damage that Piccolo Daimio had recently caused was magically undone. People who had died because of the demon were reincarnated. But Mai remembered what death was like. And so did Shou. Thus after Pilaf was released from the hospital - because the fall had injured him - the first time that he dared to mention the dragonballs, both of his friends clamped their hands over his mouth and said. "NO!"

**ooxoo**

**F**ive years ago...

Dramatic music. A spotlight on a stage. A red carpet. A room full of famous people applauding. A marble podium with a microphone.

A pretty woman in an expensive and artfully torn up evening gown stood at the podium and waited for the clapping to finish. She smiled and nearly blinded the audience with her artifically whitened teeth. She was holding an envelope. She sounded overly cheerful. "And now, the moment we've all been waiting for! The winner of Best Picture is..." There was a drumroll. The pretty woman fumbled in the envelope because she wasn't looking at it, her eyes and her smile stayed on the audience. She held up a piece of paper and made a show of being surprised. "_This Movie Is So Awful That You Will All Bow Down To Me_!" She announced. "By Lord Pilaf!"

More wild applause, some cheering and even a few chants of 'make a sequel!'. Several camera flashes as the small blue midget is literally carried out to the stage. He's got wide eyes and very bad stage fright. He's wearing a toddler-sized tuxedo, an adult-sized bow tie and a hat with a bobble on top. Shou politely sets up a small ladder behind the podium and Mai gently sets her boss on the top rung. The gunslinger and the dog exchange bewildered glances before turning to wave, half-heartedly, at the audience while Pilaf is presented with a golden statue that is nearly his own height.

Eventually the applause dies down and Pilaf, age forty-three, leans towards the microphone. He speaks very slowly as if hoping that this will help make his message clear.

"...i don't think you people understand..."

**ooxoo**

**F**our and half years ago...

He was incredibly short. He was blue-skinned. He had no hair and pointy ears. He wore a bright tunic and a hat with a bobble on top. He was known to hang out with a dog in a ninja outfit and a dark haired lady in a grey trenchcoat. He was, in other words, impossible to disguise.

He was also fairly fast. Years of running away can do that.

Pilafs feet were blurs. He ran, flailing his arms as if hoping to become airborne and with tears of panic streaming down his face. His mouth was open but he was moving at such a speed that his screaming did not in fact become audible until several seconds later. And by then his distressed scream was just a faint sound drown out by the noisy stampede of adoring fans, curious reporters and anxious camera people. Everyone wanted an autograph or a photograph or an interview. Everyone wanted to know more about the award-winning movie and if there would be another movie soon and could they be in it and would he please read the scripts they had written?

Mai and Shou, moderately trampled, were trailing the crowd by a good minute and a half.

That was all the time it took.

Mai had the longer stride, she was ahead. Guided by the noise of the crowd more than anything else, she rounded the corner and skidded to an abrupt stop. "Oh no..."

Shou, who was behind her, stopped immediately when those words were uttered. He flattened his ears back, cringing in the alleyway and stared imploringly at his partner in not-exactly-crime. "Dare I look?"

Mai bit her lip, it was a nervous habit. She nodded.

Shou leaned around the corner. His eyes widened and he flinched. "Oh dear..."

The movie fans had caught up to Pilaf. One fan, in particular. A woman. She had apparently loved the movie so much that she just couldn't control herself. She had chased, caught, picked up and was now happily kissing the director. The poor blue midget was writhing in disgusted agony and rapidly turning a new color: ghostly white.

Age forty-four. His first kiss. Mentally, Pilaf was a genius. Physically, he had stopped growing at around the age of two. Emotionally and socially, he'd stopped growing at around the age of five.

It would take Mai, Shou and the entire staff of a busy hospital two full weeks to convince Pilaf that he was not going to die from cootie-related infections. It would take just over six months and some intensive counseling sessions to convince him that he was not permanently disabled. It would be a year and half before further intensive counseling got him to take the bag off his head and stop obsessively washing his face. But it would be years before he returned to... Well. Almost as normal as he'd ever been.

**ooxoo**

**T**wo months ago...

"And THIS time," Lord Pilaf, age forty-eight, stood next to a giant lever of his own making. The grip of the handle appeared to be in the shape of a golden statue. He was very good at reusing things. "The plan REALLY is foolproof!"

Mai and Shou resisted the impulse to point out that they'd heard this before. Several hundred thousand times. They resisted the impulse to ask questions. They stood and waited. But... Because they'd been working with Pilaf for so many years now... They were standing a safe distance away. And they were wearing safety goggles and hard hats. And Mai was holding the fire extinguisher while Shou was holding the first aid kit. And they had a mobile phone with a local hospital on speed dial. And they were already thinking about what kind of lies they would have to tell the police and news reporters this time. Probably they could get away with saying the explosion had been part of a movie. Lord Pilaf now being known as an eccentric film director was not an entirely bad thing, in that regard.

"It's going to work, I tell you!" Pilaf shouted. He was grateful for his friends but their casual preparations for disaster were discouraging. He rubbed his hands together, grinned and reached for the lever. He indulged in an evil cackle while he was reaching.

At this precise moment, the dark mist fell to Earth.

**ooxoo**

**N**ow...

"Are you sure that's a cat?" asked Mai, looking down.

"Maybe it used to be." Shou twitched his nose. "It sort of smells like a cat."

They heard distant shouting and, without leaving, turned away. They didn't remember the dark clouds - but Pilaf did. Because Pilaf was a delusional maniac. So being a mindless zombie hadn't actually been that much of a change for him. Besides, Pilaf was so dedicated to his dream of ruling the world that he'd recovered on his own and before anyone else. He was the main reason, in fact, that Mai and Shou were still alive. He'd kept them from getting hurt until they had recovered from being zombies. Something that he'd been constantly reminding them of for the last two months.

A half ruined city was a great place to find more parts. And they needed all the parts that they could get. Because Pilaf had a new enemy: the Red Ribbon Army.

For some reason the tiny blue genius was convinced that the dark clouds had been caused by the largest known criminal organization on the planet. In fact, Pilaf thought that the Red Ribbon Army was going to try to take over the world. He thought they might use dark clouds again. Or robots.

Pilaf was beyond outraged. When he wasn't reminding his friends of how he'd saved them, he was now ranting about Red Ribbon. How dare anyone else try to take over the world! What gave them the right? That was HIS dream. Didn't they know who they were dealing with? Strong warriors, hmf. What could anyone do about problems like Goku? But the Red Ribbon Army... Dark Clouds... Robots. Ha! Lord Pilaf felt able to address such problems. He had a whole array of designs just waiting to be built.

Mai and Shou were not so young as they had once been. Mai still looked to be in her twenties and could shoot as straight as ever but... She was closer to sixty. And Shou, if you wanted to figure his age in dog years, should have retired ages ago. But Pilaf was their friend and helping him was now an old habit. And they did feel indebted to their blue midget. Not just for recent events, either. He'd given them a lifetime of adventure and something like friendship, even if he couldn't give them the world. And following this routine, it seemed to keep them healthy and young-looking.

Still... Mai and Shou both knew what the Red Ribbon Army was. And that gave them pause. And Red Ribbon was endorsed by the World Government, these days. That gave them more pause. And Capsule Corporation could easily crush Red Ribbon - but they hadn't. So... Was it a three-way alliance? And if those three groups wanted to take over the world... That gave them quite a lot of pause. Tons of pause.

For thirty-one years, they'd been working together and helping Pilaf. And Shou had been helping Pilaf for even longer than that. They'd always understood that _taking over_ the world might also mean _taking on_ the world but... They had survived thousands of explosions and failed experiments and a strong kid and a giant monkey and the strong kid, again and a green demon and a movie award show and movie fans and dark clouds and...

Shou could still remember what death had been like. And so could Mai.

They hadn't enjoyed the experience.

And the problem was this: if you tried to take over the world and failed, nobody noticed. But if you tried to destroy the Red Ribbon Army and failed then the largest criminal organization in the world might still be upset with you. It would be like hitting an active bee hive with a very short stick and then finding out that the bees could use heat-seeking missiles. Mai and Shou were loyal. They respected and admired Pilaf. They sometimes regarded him as being their boss and sometimes, more privately, regarded him as being sort of like their kid. They felt responsible for the genius. They felt protective of him. Ruling the world was fine and dandy but taking on the whole world... Or even just Red Ribbon... Someone might actually get hurt. And it might be them.

They had to find a way to talk Pilaf out of this scheme, it was nuts - even for him. And that was saying something.

Rawr.

"Did that thing just make a noise?" Mai stepped back, turning again to look at the small heap of reddish fur in the street. She had already mentally labeled it as roadkill - but roadkill shouldn't blink. Or look like it had died by electrocution. Or sort of squeak. Maybe it was a strange type of squirrel? Mai remained skeptical about the creature being a cat.

"It must be delerious." Shou decided and being a mildy compassionate sort, he added. "We should take it to a shelter. They can... Put it out of its misery, one way or another."

And the tiny reddish cat - now a few hours old - thought: _I...am...Delerious?_

It hadn't expected to need a name. It wasn't sure why. It began to wonder what a shelter was. It also wondered what misery was and why anyone needed to go outside of it. It spent a few startled moments contemplating the complexity of the universe and then coughed up a little hairball. The soul of a hairball, anyway.

**ooxoo**

**Authors Footnote:** I've taken Pilafs age straight from the official timelines. He is 22 years older than ChiChi. (Goku starts out being the same age as his wife but his age becomes an open debate, after he starts doing space-travel and training in places where time passes differently. Otherwise I'd use him for the basis.) So just remember that by the time DBGT rolls around, Pilaf is closing on age 70. Which is not really that old in this fictional world where we have rather a lot of characters with ages past three digits. ALSO please note: the mere fact that Pilaf, Mai and Shou even show up in DBGT implies that they were not evil enough to have been left dead by any of the 'only reincarnate the nice people' type wishes made in DBZ. So... Yea. You'll see.

**ooxoo**


	37. Schemes: December 5th, 763 AD

_**Eclipse**_

**by DoraMouse**

**ooxoo**

**Authors Note: **Ah, Esplandian. Thanks for joining me in the funhouse. That would be a wonderful thing to know how to say en Espanol. Ha! Perhaps I will have to learn that. Anyway, this word - 'crackpairing' - I had not heard it called that before but I would like to thank you for the enlightenment, it's a good word. Accurate description. And yet if anyone should happen to mock you or question you for this pursuit in your writing then please, on my behalf, just laugh in their general direction. The history, mythology and literature of our world - to say nothing of the broadcast industry - is brimming with such crackpairings. What is another story, in the grand scheme of things, that it should ruffle their proverbial feathers? People are so strange. Go ahead and ruffle them. That is the job of the artist, is it not? Someone has to ask the questions and provoke the learning. And now, it's my turn again...

**ooxoo**

**Schemes: December 5th, 763 A.D.**

**H**ow big is the ocean?

A person who has always lived in the middle of a continent pulls out a map of the world and can cover all the oceans with one hand, or maybe both hands. They do not think about the ocean much.

A person living on the coast looks out the window and sees the horizon. They think about the tide and the driftwood and the weather, they begin to have an idea.

A person in a boat looks down. The surface of the water is calm but under the surface... Is the shadow of a creature larger than the entire boat.

Gohan had never thought about the ocean much. He'd fought to save the planet and the planet was, as it turned out, mostly ocean. And he'd known that it was out here but... He hadn't really understood the scope of it, before seeing the whales. Even when seeing it... The experience was hard to describe. It was scary and kind of reassuring, all at once. The ocean looked so peaceful from far away. To think that something the size of a whale could be out there, minding its own business and unnoticed by humanity. Or maybe even a whole group of whales, passing through. Gohan knew about fish - he'd gone diving once or twice around Kame Island with Kuririn in the past - but... They'd never seen anything larger than a turtle or an octopus. Whales... People never saw these creatures all at once unless they were dead and had washed ashore. Wildlife rangers could identify the whales on sight and all that most trained wildlife rangers ever saw of them was a distant bump in the water, the knuckles of the back. Sometimes a flash of tail or a cloud of breath.

Humans would name these animals by just the marks on their backs and tails.

Gohan had to wonder, what kind of names would people give each other if they only ever saw the markings on their backs?

But that's how big the ocean was. It wasn't just the depth and width. It wasn't just the massive diversity of creatures or the long history of sunken ships. It was... The idea. The idea that so much was out there - and right there - that humanity had not yet even discovered, much less begun to fully understand. What did whales think about? Some of these creatures were larger than islands, they had brains bigger than people. And they had to be thinking something because the noises... The whales spoke to each other. There was a whale language, that's what it sounded like. Even the smaller creatures... The various fish and crabs and seals and dinosaurs and weird things... They all communicated, in their own ways. They had developed methods of surviving. Some of the fish were camouflaged and others could glow in the dark. Some creatures had grown shells and others were poisoness. Some had teeth and some had beaks. Some hunted alone and some moved in groups. There were birds that could fly underwater. There were relatives of insects and snails who could survive without sunlight or oxygen. There were starfish and creatures that could regenerate limbs. There were rocks that were, in fact, animals. There were creatures who experienced a lifecycle in a day and others who would outlive humans. There were creatures who might be able to remember what the planet had been like, before humans and creatures in the depths who were probably still unaware of the fact that humanity existed.

There were whales and most of the whales were herbivores, they ate plants. Teeny tiny microscopic plants. How strange, that such large creatures could live by eating such small things. And also... That meant... That the whales... Were not the predators. That the ocean was home to things that did nothing but eat whales. That's how big the ocean was.

There had to be some sort of intellect behind these skills. What had guided these creatures, to become so unique? Why weren't they all the same?

What did all the water-dwelling creatures think of boats?

Gohan didn't know.

Normally, he would have gone to ask Piccolo. Because Piccolo was gods nephew, so if anyone ought to know... But right now, Gohan didn't know what to think of Piccolo. The admiration and respect had been taken down a hundred notches by the visit to the ruined Tenkaichi Budoukai stadium. Gohan wasn't even sure if he still wanted to be friends with the green warrior. He didn't hate Piccolo but... Innocent people had died because of Piccolo. The stadium still bore the marks of that battle. And his mother... Gohan loved her and he understood her better, now. He didn't want to worry his mother or make her unhappy. How could he continue to be friends with anyone who had scared her so much? Maybe he couldn't. Gohan wasn't sure yet.

He hadn't had a lot of time to dwell on it, either. Because Gohan had other lessons to pursue. His mother had decided to enroll him a special school. She had, in fact, come out of retirement just to be his teacher. And so had Irene. And so had the whole crew. And their families.

The ship creaked and glided across the waves.

It was the best school _ever_.

**ooxoo**

**H**ow big is the afterlife?

The cloudscape stretched away in all directions, tainted with shafts of light. The sky above was dark and full of distant glittering stars. If you only looked up then you could almost pretend that you were still on Earth. The problem was that the cloudscape was moving - it was like being on the surface of the ocean. There were waves, ripples of motion and gentle drifting. And if you made the mistake of looking down... The sky below was also dark and full of distant glittering stars. And sometimes, the passing shadow of a large creature.

Shenlong? Perhaps.

The knowledge that the afterlife had its own planets, solar systems and galaxies did not begin to capture the scale of things. But the knowledge that a full grown dragon could get lost out here or that a person could be standing dangerously close to such an enormous creature and not even realize it... That gave a whole new level of understanding.

Yajirobe had never been dead before. He was already convinced that it was not an experience that he would care to repeat. The whole sensation of...not being solid... It made him nauseous and that was a strange thing, as well. Why should a ghost be nauseous? He didn't know - but he was. Yajirobe had never liked flying. Truly good swordplay required keeping your feet on the ground. Or on a wall. Or on a ceiling. He'd developed that skill after the war as well. It had been very useful while hunting down renegade ninjas, to be able to just run up the side of a tree or building. Korins Tower... If Yajirobe hadn't been carrying Goku that first time, he could have reached the top in minutes. He'd had enough practice.

Ninjas... There was a terrible thought. Assassins were one thing, because at least most of them were honest about what they did. Assassins worked for money and good assassins were not cheap. Samurai worked for Honor, they took an oath where they swore to serve and defend their masters. But ninjas... Samurai who went insane or who were corrupted by wealth or authority sometimes became ninjas. Assassins who liked to torture things or leaving calling cards at crime scenes, they became ninjas. There were no limits for those people. No loyalty. Ninjas would kill anyone for any reason and sometimes for no reason at all. That had been Yajirobes experience. He truly did not understand why modern culture viewed ninjas so favorably. It was an insult to everything that the samurai had ever represented. At least most of the modern want-to-bes were harmless. Most people were not sincere, when they mimicked the ninja costume. They wore the black and thought it was stylish and that was all.

Before he'd crossed paths with Goku... Yajirobe had been out in the woods, on his way to hunt down a ninja. Another former samurai. He'd even left Korins Tower a few times, to rid the world of the excess violent madmen.

How many of the ninjas were ghosts? What part of the afterlife would those ghosts be in now? What kinds of powers did the ghosts have? What kind of powers did HE have? Goku had trained here, in the afterlife, while dead. Tenshinhan and Chaozu and Yamucha had all trained here. Piccolo hadn't been dead for long, all things considered and Kuririn apparently hadn't trained, either of the times that he'd been dead. But... If training was possible... And if powering up was possible... But... How?

Yajirobe wasn't sure. And the cloudscape was brimming with nobody to ask.

That struck a bad chord. This was not right. The afterlife should not be empty. Death was natural. People and animals and plants had been dying for millions of years. And that was just on Earth. And Yajirobe had never left the Earth but he had heard about other planets, inhabited other planets. And if there was any kind of life on other worlds then there was probably also death on those other worlds, right? So where had all ghosts gone? And Yajirobe had never been dead before but he'd heard about death, too. He'd heard about the afterlife from people who had been there. There was supposed to be a path and a giant orge named Lord Enma and an office where you waited for judgement... Somehow, he'd skipped all that. Yajirobe had appeared directly into the cloudscape. No halo, no wings, no new dress code... Yajirobe wasn't sure if he would have gotten a halo but it might have been useful. Halos gave off light.

He didn't like to power up. Especially not right now. If the power was from the soul then... He would basically be leaking energy, wouldn't he? Draining his own life force. What happened, if a ghost ran out of energy? Yajirobe was not tempted to find out. But... If he powered up just a tiny bit, for just a moment... He would glow. And maybe between giving off some extra light and raising his energy... Then he would become more detectable. And someone would find him. Because try as he might, all that he could detect right now... Wait. Did he really want anyone to find him?

Maybe not.

There had to be other ghosts out there, even if he couldn't see them or detect them. The witch wouldn't destroy everyone, right?

Yajirobe felt more nauseous and wished that he hadn't thought of that.

Wishes...

Okay. Twenty-some days. Right? Why was it so hard to think about that? Maybe the soul didn't age the same way as the body. Maybe the soul rejected the definitions of the mortal mind as no longer relevant. Maybe the afterlife had its own time - something that couldn't be measured with clocks or calendars or sunsets. Maybe there was something about the vast cloudscape that defied time. But thinking about Earth... It made him feel a little bit grounded. So. Twenty-some days. Kami was here, somewhere. Shenlong was here. The witch was here and she was the most detectable. There was apparently an epic battle taking place out here somewhere but Yajirobe couldn't see or hear it. That's how big the afterlife was.

The assassin would be here soon, if he wasn't already. The kid... Yajirobe wondered if the little girl would make it. He doubted that Chaozu would kill the brat and that was okay. One triclops should be enough to dodge magic. Tenshinhan would be healed and should be able to see a spell coming. All that Yajirobe had to do was find the assassin. Then all that they had to do was find the battle and avoid being hit while getting the fight between the witch and the god sorted out. Then the dragonballs would activate on schedule and Yajirobe could be wished back to life and go home, to thrash a certain immortal white cat for testing him so much.

Most eager young warriors would have rushed off in search of the battle. Yajirobe was not eager nor was he terribly young. And he had twenty-some days. And he'd been in a war once, so he knew what twenty-some days could do to a warrior. He would have to pace himself, to survive. That seemed an ironic thought as a ghost but surviving was a familiar goal, at least. An old habit. He could cling to the irrational until he found something better. That might take a while.

Besides, he was a true and cautious samurai. He was loyal and sincere. Yajirobe couldn't join the fight until he knew which side he should take - or if he should be his own side. He didn't want to step into a battle that he didn't fully understand.

The witch had known Kami for three hundred years. They were supposed to be friends, right? Why were they even fighting? And if the Guardian couldn't get her to talk things out... And if Shenlong, who was stronger here, did not have the power to stop her... Then what could the ghost of a samurai do? Hrm. This problem was like a riddle. And this samurai was the apprentice of a riddle master.

Yajirobe inspected himself. He was still human-shaped. Why? He was glad but it didn't make sense. His soul could have, in theory, taken any shape. He wasn't bound by physical limits anymore. Was the shape of his soul based on his memory of life? If that was the case then what would he become, if he forgot what it was to be alive? He studied the clouds again. Hrm. The clouds. Calm and drifting and stretching off in every direction except up or down... The air was intensely cold but in a way that went beyond temperature. The clouds were peaceful but the silence filled the samurai with dread. Were these clouds the ghosts, maybe? Was he standing on a soul that had forgotten the shape that it had been while alive? Would he become a cloud? Could a person be reincarnated, if they forgot what life was?

Twenty-some days... Almost a month. He'd been alive for years. Now he was dead. Could he remember life, for almost a whole month? Maybe that wouldn't be the hard part.

Next Yajirobe inspected The No Ken which hung from a belt under his weighted outer robe. Even now, even though all his clothes were ghostly - did clothing have soul? or was this part of the memory? - the robe was still weighted. That was a surprise and it wasn't the only one. Yajirobe was grateful to have kept the blade but felt a bit weird - well, weirder - to have it. The No Ken had remained solid. His soul wasn't. It was a challenge to pick the sword up because he wasn't accustomed to being able to see through his own hands. And as disturbing as it had been, for Yajirobe to see the reflections of his past or of his future in the length of the blade... It was a smidge more disturbing, to suddenly not have a reflection at all.

But it did allow Yajirobe to see the reflection of something else.

Behind him, a cloud turned to fog and the fog gradually took on a shape. A ghostly humanoid shape. With the poise of a warrior and the garb of a fisherman. Clutching the oar of a row boat.

The chill of the afterlife seemed to dramatically increase. And the thing that no warrior should ever forget, Yajirobe decided as he turned on his heels and raised the divine blade to block, was that the witch was an accurate psychic. So of course she must have expected... And of course, she had allies here as well.

**ooxoo**

**K**uririn was in a dark place. Well, actually - physically - he was just in his room. And it wasn't bright in this room because he'd barricaded the door and the windows. But it wasn't totally dark either because Kuririn gave off light. But mentally, he was in a much darker place.

And it was because of Lunch.

Granted, being related to Master Roshi was a shock. Especially since Master Roshi hadn't mentioned it until recently. To think that he'd been staying with his real-live-actual uncle since the age of thirteen... His uncle was a legend! His uncle was more than three hundred years old! His uncle was a pioneer of energy combat! His uncle was the most infamous pervert on the planet! Kuririn was amazed by the news but also hurt by the other side of it. The relation was more distant. His uncle, Roshi... Was his great-great-great... There were generations between them, that's what it came down to. And Roshi didn't know those people anymore. And Kuririn hadn't ever known them. But he wanted to - he needed to. His parents were one of those missing links. If Master Roshi was still alive then Kuririns parents... Or at least one of those parents... Hopefully only one of those parents...

Was Uranai Babas child. And Master Mutaitos child. Or grandchild. Or great-great-great...

Kuririn got dizzy. He was a part of the Mutaito clan. He was a direct descendant of the most dangerous mortal psychic on the planet. This... Explained a few things but had not, yet, improved his opinion of the witch. Because the witch had done something, to her own clan. She'd disowned her own children. What kind of parent would...? Kuririn didn't understand the things that had happened three hundred years ago. He was twenty-seven. He had listened to the explanations. But... In his heart, it just didn't make sense. Mutaito could have let Kami die at the battles against Daimio. Mutaito could have become the next Guardian. And the witch... With all her power, why hadn't she prevented her husbands death? Why hadn't she...?

But as unfathomable as all of this was... Kuririn couldn't linger on it. Because he didn't understand all of it. And he was too preoccupied with feeling denial to try and understand it better. And so it didn't scare him quite as much as Lunch. Because that was more immediate, more personal.

A cousin. A distant and previously unknown cousin. A pretty woman, a little older than him, who had lived at the Kame House and... Did they NOT have any idea how many times he'd thought about asking her out?! Lunch had always been so nice to him. Kuririn had been a teenager, fresh out of a monestary. He'd been bald and under two feet tall. He had wanted to train not just to overcome the fears instilled in him by bullies but also to attract girls. He probably would have fallen half in love with any pretty woman that had been nice to him. If he hadn't been so shy... Then instead of just hanging around all dreamy-eyed to help with the cooking and housework... He would have asked Lunch out.

Would Master Roshi have let him date his own cousin?!

And how distant was distant, exactly?! If Lunch was related to him in any way at all then... Maybe she was related to his parents, as well. Did she know them? Was he going to have to seek answers about his origins from someone who was at least a little bit insane? How much did her condition impair her memory? What if Lunch didn't know...

The witch would know.

Kuririn did not want to have to ask her, either. He hoped that the witch stayed in the afterlife. The planet might not be big enough for both of them anymore.

And there were other relatives, other cousins. The person who had tried to kill Master Roshi - a member of the Jitsugen clan, apparently - was related. The bandit might be related. The assassin might be...

Being in a dark place, mentally, did not prevent an energy signature from registering. Gohan.

Kuririn ignored it. Maybe it was a trick. Even if it wasn't a trick, he still didn't feel like talking to anyone. He just wanted to be alone with his thoughts. He had a lot to think about. Family and friends and fighting skill. Evil being purged and pure heartedness. Attacks and traps and the guardianship. The past and the future. The barricade was symbolic, really. Anyone could have gotten past it. Master Roshi or Yamucha could have broken a window or vaporized a wall. Puar or Oolong were both able to shapeshift and lockpick. But they could all detect his energy and so they all knew better. They wouldn't bother him much until he took the barricade down. Kuririn had everything he needed, in his room - even a small fridge. Not that he currently had an appetite.

Gohans energy persisted. It was drawing closer. Not fast enough for the kid to be flying or even riding the cloud but... Maybe he was riding in an aircar? Which meant that the kid was with someone. Because Gohan wasn't old enough to drive.

If the windows hadn't been barricaded, Kuririn would have seen how far off his guess was. Instead, he noticed Oolongs energy go screaming through the Kame House and dive into the ocean out back. And then Master Roshi powered down, as if to avoid being noticed. Which meant that Kuririns energy was now the most detectable on the island and... Actually, as long as he was on the island, his energy was pretty much always the most detectable. But this wasn't fair! Kuririn wasn't ready to...

Wood splintered. Glass shattered. Something large, heavy and metallic crashed through a wall of his room and left a dent in the floor.

"ah... sorry." Gohan peered through the hole where the wall had once been. He'd been put in charge of weighing the anchor but the anchor was kind of slippery and he tended to get carried away, when it came to throwing things and... Gohan turned, his face lit up. "Kuririn!"

Kuririn spent the next several moments looking at dancing spots and trying to avoid having a crushed ribcage.

Right, this was the same kid who could try to hug Piccolo. Or Vegeta. And live. The boy could read bad energy and just basically ignore it, in other words. Had Gohan become this strong in order to survive living around Goku? Or had Goku had to become stronger, just to survive his son? The kid could turn hugs into deadly combat. At least the boy was feeling better. Kuririn wondered how Gohan had been cured of laughing so much.

Once the hug was released and after the room stopped being blurry, Kuririn stared at the anchor. It was huge. Then he stared at the kid who had thrown it. The most dangerous creature on the planet. Why did the boy look so normal? Although... Kuririn blinked. "Uhm. What are you dressed up as?"

"I'm a demi-pirate!" Gohan grinned and he looked the part. He had a necklace of coins and shark teeth. He had a striped vest, patched pants and a headscarf.

There was metallic creaking, the chain on the anchor swayed slightly. Kuririn let his eyes follow the chain and had to walk over to lean out of the house... Where it became impossible to ignore the presence of the pirate ship. Despite the fact that he lived on an island, Kuririn did not know much about boats but this was a piece of art, it really was. It had a certain dignity. It was wooden, of all things. Not plastic or rubber or metal, like so many modern boats. The boat had been made carefully, someone had taken pride in their work. The vessel was large enough to contain the population of a small village but it sat high in the water and managed to appear sleek. There were multiple masts and rigging and sails and a dark flag with the pattern of a skull in front of two crossed axes. There was a statue on the front, a half-serpent of some sort and beneath the statue two words had been painted and carved in tall cursive letters: The Axis.

Standing on the chain between the ship and the anchor, there was a person. A delicate looking woman clad in dark leather and lace with a moderately frilled blouse. She clinked with polished jewelery and had a wide silk belt tied around her waist. She wore her hair down. She had several visible tool and weapon belts strapped on her arms and legs and across her chest. She carried a tall axe. The blade was bigger than she was.

Kuririn nearly didn't recognize her. And he couldn't immediately think of how to react because she was already nailing him to the ground with a glare that said: 'you took my son to a warzone on another planet, you have NO RIGHT AT ALL to question me for doing this.'

"Remember the dark mist? Well, the normal schools aren't working yet so..." Gohan was explaining.

"THAT is a school?!"

A plank was lowered with surprising speed. Some of the crew rushed down. A man who appeared to be half-walrus shouted. "You callin' us stupid, shortness?"

Kuririn took a breath and resisted the impulse to blow them all up, sink the ship and just leave. He glared at ChiChi, who had not moved from her tightrope walking act and tried to think of a polite way to say: 'you know, taking the strongest creature on the planet and showing him how to be a pirate might be AN INCREDIBLY BAD IDEA.'

"It's great!" Gohan was ignoring the tension between his mother and his favorite sensei. "We learn all kinds of things! Like how to predict the weather and how to navigate by the wind and the stars and..."

"How to repair a boat." Said the half-walrus, proudly. He seemed to carry nothing but hammers in his weapons belt. "How clean a boat. How to keep a boat above water even in a storm or move the cargo around to get it going faster or..."

"Geography!" Said a wrinkled man with an eyepatch and lot of tattoos - some of which were maps. "How to recognize a country from it's coastline. How to recognize an ocean without a coastline. And..."

A set of triplets, all adult women in long raincoats spoke up with shrill voices. They were identical, except that they were each missing a different limb. The first to speak had a peg leg where her right leg had once been. "Travel! The history and languages and customs of different countries!"

"Loot- I mean, accounting!" said the middle sister, who had a hook hand. A ruffled parrot perched on her shoulder and squawked and whistled while she spoke. "Trade! Bartering! Foreign currencies! How to buy and sell what you need, no matter where you are!"

"Biology!" The last sister also had a peg leg, hers was the left. She also had a small crocodile in a purse. Not a crocodile purse but a crocodile IN a purse. A pet. It grinned a lazy toothy grin. "Marine biology! Oceanography! Ecology! Saving the environment! Or at least saving ourselves from the environment! Survival of the fittest!"

A humanoid penguin carrying a spear and wearing an outfit made of nothing but fishing nets added a few remarks. A parrot fluttered over to it, listened and - between fits of parroting - translated. "Fishing! wanna cracker... Knowing what's safe to eat! pretty bird! Knowing how to clean a fish!"

"Not to mention the challenges of cooking on a boat." Said the lady with the crocodile.

"And seeking buried treasure." Added the lady with the hook hand.

"And swimming and playing cards." Said the travel expert.

"And all the words to The Hymn of Flying Admiral." Said the wrinkled one-eyed walking altas.

"And fifty different ways to tie a good knot!" Finished the angry half-walrus, brandishing a hammer. "Which is more than you know, I'll bet!"

"Yea!" Gohan cheered and then paused. He turned to the half-walrus. "Wait. Only fifty? I thought there were more than a hundred..."

The half-walrus snorted dismissively. "If you're going to get into the decorative..."

More of the crew rushed down, including a humandoid rat and several assorted pirate spouses and children and parrots. An intense debate on the merits of decorative knots soon filled the island. Gohan was part of it.

Kuririn considered leaving. Just walking off. Going back in the house, at least. He hadn't wanted company in the first place and this was more weirdness than he cared to endorse. He'd had enough weirdness already, thank you very much. He hadn't even begun to deal with the sheer amount of weirdness in his own life. He'd tried. But... 'oh hi, I've been purged of evil apparently and was nearly forced to become a local god since you last saw me.' That wasn't something that a person could easily slip into a conversation, not even with themselves.

An explosion of sand. A woman with an axe landed on her feet. She had somersaulted down from the boat. She had used the axe to improve her rotation and her speed. Kuririn stared. He had never thought of weapons as being counterbalances for a persons weight. But... This tall lady with the frizzy hair... Had the build of a dancer and when she moved... She pivoted gracefully around her long-handled axe.

The samurai... Kuririn realized that he had seen someone else use this principle... The samurai could do this as well. And Yajirobe was bloody dangerous, when he hit a rhythm. And Yamucha sometimes sparred with weapons and he could do this, too. And ChiChi... Kuririn had never seen her fight with a weapon. But he remembered the 23rd Tenkaichi Budoukai, where weapons were banned. And he'd watched some of her fights, back then. And she had looked a bit off balance. Maybe that had been love - she had been fixated on Goku. Or perhaps ChiChi had never fought without a weapon before.

And she had a weapon, now.

"Hey!" Irene nearly dislocated his shoulder when she grabbed and shook his hand. "Listen, Gohan says yer a swell kid..."

"I'm not a kid." Kuririn growled, reclaiming his arm and suddenly not wanting to take his eyes from the axes. He was bulletproof but not bladeproof.

"Really?" Irene didn't bother to feign surprise. "Huh. Well, is there a radio or something in the house that we could borrow? Sorry about the wall, by the way."

The other pirates on the beach were now deeply involved in a knot demonstration. Gohan was trying to show that the decorative fishtail knot, if tied properly, could be just as dependable as the more standard double box knot. But everyone had their own variations and favorites. So they were also tying triple happiness knots, woven brocade knots and butterfly knots - among others. And they were arguing heartily about whether the loops should go under first or over first or...

Kuririn scowled. This lady, the blade of her axe was bigger than him. If she threw all her weight into a swing - that would be some wicked speed for a non-martial artist. "Why do you need a radio?"

"We heard a rumor that some idiot has taken god to court." Irene smiled. "Wanna check the news and see if..."

"It's true." Kuririn decided to defend the absent bandit. "And he's not an idiot, he's my friend."

Irene stared down at him for a while. "Ya know, I was thinking of inviting ya on board but... You're doomed." Then she turned, picked up Gohan and went back on the boat. The woman who was willing to let a six year old carry a knife was no longer willing to have the kid anywhere near this island. Gohan thought about resisting but was distracted by the fact that he'd accidentally tied his own hands together.

The crew followed her up the plank, still debating knots. But there were a couple of new members, Kuririn noticed. A humanoid pig with a suitcase. An old man in dark sunglasses. Kuririn scowled at them. They went on the boat anyway.

Kuririn checked himself. Was his energy THAT bad?

ChiChi remained standing above the beach on the anchor chain. She watched Master Roshi and Oolong get aboard with a mild frown. Then she looked down. "Which friend?" She ventured, still in a iron-clad tone of: 'you can NOT tell me to just go home because I will remove your spleen if you dare utter such nonsense.'

Seriously. Why should she go home and sit around waiting for Goku to come back? What if he didn't come back? ChiChi loved her husband and that's why it hurt so much not to know but... It had started to occur to her, that Goku might not come back. The wish to get Goku home had been made last May - and that wish had failed. And they hadn't heard anything from or about her husband since. If he was fighting in outer space... He could be dead by now. He could have been dead for months. And the house would seem so empty, without him. She couldn't just go back to the house. Her life would be miserable if she just went back. Everything in that house would remind her of a person that she loved but might never see again. This was not an idea that she was prepared to face on her own. ChiChi was a social creature. She needed social support. She needed her ship and her crew and Irene. And it WAS a good education for her son and for the other pirates children and... ChiChi inspected Kame Island. She couldn't detect energy but she was a little surprised to think that someone else wasn't here. "Where's your daughter?"

Kuririn went through more than a few expressions and dark mental moments. He'd been so wrapped up in shock... But if Shirley was truly related to him in any way... Then she was also related, distantly, to Lunch and Master Roshi and Uranai Baba... And someone should maybe tell the girl. And she was probably still up at the Lookout, training with Korin. Shirley was only nine and she was already training with an immortal. Of course, if she had genetics from Daimio as well then she was related to Kami and... Did that make her semi-immortal? Demi-immortal? The thought was enough to nearly give Kuririn a migraine. He didn't mind claiming the kid and trying to raise her but he didn't want to have do the introductions to the rest of the family right away.

He wasn't eager to return to the Lookout but he resolved to go there anyway and soon. For now, he switched topics. "Why are we supposively doomed?"

ChiChi felt worried for Shirley but decided to let the change of topic slide. She could get answers elsewhere. "Ever hear of the lost sunken island?"

"Yes." Kuririn had studied history and mythology back at the temple.

"Ever wonder how it became lost and sunken?"

"..."

ChiChi shrugged. "You did ask." She turned and started walking up the chain towards her ship. "Tell your friend to drop the charges. Because when gods are asked to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth... They might. And the truth is a powerful thing." She signaled to her crew. With the usual amount of shouting and chanting, they began to haul in the anchor. "We'll send a check, to pay for repairs to the house." ChiChi added with a flourish of her axe. "Just as soon as your friend drops the charges."

As soon as the Captain was on deck, a noisy debate broke out about whether certain not-exactly-stowaways should be thrown overboard. It didn't take long to resolve. Master Roshi must have said something that caught the pirates interest. ChiChi nodded. Then the crew resumed hauling anchor.

The anchor creaked as it was dragged, leaving scuff marks in the floor and ceiling. Kuririn sighed and looked at the Kame House. His room. He'd never owned a ton of stuff and he'd been thinking of moving out for years but... And he certainly couldn't be a parent here, could he? But it was home and... Where else could he go?

A blur of orange and a few moments of dancing spots. _Chiropractor._ Kuririn resolved while gathering his energy to prevent a spinal fracture. _If I'm going to remain friends with this kid then I have got to find a good chiropractor._

Gohan was trailing string and had a handful of decorative knots. He smiled but sounded concerned. "Are you sure that you don't want to come? We get to sleep in hammocks!"

"Thanks but...I've got...some other things..." Kuririn managed, once able to breathe again.

"Catch up to us, then. Please?" Gohan dropped the necklace over Kuririns head. "I think you'd really like being a pirate, if you gave it a try. And bring your daughter, too." A note of steel crept into the demi-saiyans tone. "I want a rematch with her."

The six year old picked up the anchor, nudged the ship into the water with a foot and flew back on board. There were a few cries of 'Ahoy!' and 'wanna cracker!' and the creaks of wind filling the sails. The Axis glided around the island and turned north. The ship caught a tide, picked up speed and rapidly shrank towards the horizon.

"...REmatch?" Kuririn asked the world at large after several stunned moments.

A splash of water revealed a green turtle shell. "There's a...!" Umigame, the resident sea turtle of Kame Island, started as he came ashore but then he paused and took in the scene. "Uhm... The pirate ship?"

"Came and went." Kuririn informed him, sweatdropping. Umigame was a nice creature but a lousy warning system. The turtle was, not to put too fine a point on it, slow. He was always swimming up to warn them of things about fifteen minutes after the fact.

Umigame dropped his head, a gesture of apology. "Oh..."

**ooxoo**

**M**ai sighed. "It was your idea to come here."

They were parked outside an animal shelter. It was the first one they'd found that was open.

"...i know..." Shou cringed, a paw over his muzzle. He couldn't even stand to look at the building, he had his back to it and his eyes shut. "...but the smell..."

Mai was human. She could not normally smell what her friend did - his nose was far more sensitive. But this building did reek, even to her. It was the smell of a hundred cages with standing room only. It was the smell of sickness and industrial bleach. This was the type of smell that could make a dog volunteer to work at a landfill, to try and forget it. There was a tangible level of despair in the area, probably even in the best of times. And right now... With so many people dead or missing or on the move, with so many cities and towns in ruins... Yes, the clean up had begun and there were signs of recovery but... Who could afford to adopt a new pet? Who could afford to take in a stray?

"Let me get this straight..." Pilaf was a mechanical genius. He'd never been to an animal shelter before. His friends had tried to explain the concept to him. "Animals go in there because humans don't want them anymore? And the animals don't know how to take care of themselves? So instead of being released into the wild or put in a zoo... They just get...?"

"Put to sleep, sir. Permanently, sir." Mai reached down and squeezed Shou on the shoulder. The talking animals were never meant to end up in these kinds of places but sometimes they did. And sometimes, they were too frightened to speak. Mai couldn't imagine what her friend had gone through in his past but she was glad that he'd found his voice in time to escape. "It is supposed to be very humane."

_Yes. Waiting to die and wondering why nobody loves you enough to take you home is so humane. Seeing the cages around you empty out, one at a time... _Shou was clutching the mangled little red cat. What had he been thinking?! It was practically roadkill but even roadkill deserved better than this!

Pilaf stared for a while at the building. He was around knee-cap height next to Mai, chest-level next to Shou. The blue midget had spent the better part of forty-eight years trying to conquer the world but he'd also spent a solid half hour calling Shou a 'very bad dog' after first seeing the mangled red cat. Pilaf had never tried to conquer the non-human parts of the world. He'd never even thought about it before, not seriously. Not very seriously. Not for a long time. He'd wanted to turn all the humans into chickens once and then conquer the world, did that count? Probably not. But he was thinking about it now. Animals... An animal army... And... Pilaf pointed, the gears in his head were turning at genius speeds. "So they have chemicals in there that can...put someone to sleep? Permanently?"

Mai nodded. Shou whimpered. The mangled little red cat squeaked, it had bitten Mai earlier. Her hand was still taped up and she'd complained of numbness. It was a good thing that Mai could shoot with either hand.

This little red cat... Was a curious thing. It was alive but it looked half dead. And it looked harmless, now. Especially with its eyes shut. But when Mai had picked it up... The cat had sprouted massive fangs. Retractable claws were a normal trait in felines. Retractable fangs were not, as far as Pilaf knew. But he wasn't an animal expert. So maybe it was a normal trait. And maybe tiny cats having the strength to cause partial numbness in humans with a simple bite was also a normal trait. And maybe other animals had useful traits as well. Maybe it was time to turn to the animal kingdom for some fresh inspiration. And a dash of chemistry. Because what kind of self-respecting delusional maniac would turn down the chance to seize dangerous chemicals?

"So... If we take all the animals from this place..." Pilaf said thoughtfully, he was doing some new sketches on his mental drawing board. "...will they just give us the chemicals as well, do you think?"

Mai answered this by lifting a loaded pistol in her non-bandaged hand. She'd been working for Pilaf long enough to recognize an order before it was even given. This was not the time to ask sensible questions like: 'but where are we going to keep who-knows-how-many dogs and cats and also possibly rodents and goldfish and reptiles and birds?' This was not the time to point out that she was going to want a new car, if she had to transport all these creatures. An evil - but probably not very evil - plan was taking shape here. It would be an adventure, a nice diversion for a while. It would likely end with an explosion - most of Pilafs schemes did. Mai stepped away from the car and flexed her fingers. "They will give us anything we want, sir. We just have to ask nicely."

Lord Pilaf gestured towards the shelter. "Go and ask nicely then."

Mai smiled. Once in a while, her boss gave orders that she liked. This was one of those times. "Yes, sir."

**ooxoo**

**Y**amucha approached Kame Island with caution. Even from a distance it was hard not to notice that there was a massive hole in one wall of the Kame House. Had Kuririn done this? But... The aircar drew closer. The eyes confirmed what the energy had already detected. Kuririn was still here.

The bandit was capable of flying on his own but he liked to drive sometimes as well. Especially when leaving a densely populated area, like the town around a court house. Because not all average people reacted well to the idea of flying martial artists. Even less so since the broadcast battle. The Budoukai was a huge tournament but the live audience could not rival the sheer amount of people who could be reached by television. So... Not everyone had seen the last few Budoukais but hardly anyone had missed the battle against Vegeta and Nappa. Which meant that average people tended to associate flying martial artists with hostile aliens now. And just one of the problems with these particular aliens, the Saiyans... Was that they didn't actually look VERY alien. So virtually any flying martial artist could, as far as the general public was concerned, be accused of being an alien. Especially if they also had dark hair. Which made no sense because Nappa had been bald.

So, aside from a haircut, Yamucha was now contemplating getting his hair dyed a different color. Because even though people were not likely to view him as normal, he did not ever want to be accused of being a Saiyan again.

The hole in the Kame House was a nearly welcome distraction from such insults.

Although trying to decide on a new hair color had also been a distraction, for several days now and from an astonishingly wide range of things. Like possible relatives. And having ordered a spaceship. And attacks that still needed to be finalized and formally named. And proceeding with a lawsuit against god. And trying to get a home rebuilt - it didn't even have to be a mansion. He'd never really meant to end up with a mansion in the first place. Why did Puar want to have a whole mansion? And not being able to go back to work because the world was a disaster area. So his expenses were up and his income was nothing and his savings were going down and...

Possible relatives.

It was a huge deal, to someone who had no idea of their own ancestory, to be confronted with the idea of family. Because family... Only when a person knew their history could they know themselves. Yamucha didn't know the name his parents had chosen for him or if his fighting skills were part of his genetic inheritance or what his cultural heritage was or... And while he wasn't prepared to seek out his parents - he couldn't believe that they would be good people - he was starting to feel concerned. Two months ago, his baseball team had hired a new player that could have apparently passed as his identical twin. Yamucha had avoided the guy and not heard anything since - so what did it mean? Was the twin still out there? Was it an actual twin or some sort of genetic creation put together by criminals or just a freaky coincidence? And now... The idea of being a possible distant cousin to Kuririn and Lunch and maybe even Tenshinhan... A nephew to Master Roshi... A grandchild to a woman could probably kill anyone on the planet from hundreds of miles away...

No one had been able to confirm or deny that Yamucha might be tied to the Mutaito clan. Yamucha had asked. Roshi didn't have an answer. The witch was in the afterlife and the gods were not being talkative. So it wasn't for certain but even just the suggestion of being related to the Mutaito clan... That was a smidge overwhelming for the bandit. Much easier to fret about hair colors.

At least Yamucha could be fairly certain that he wasn't related to Bulma. Cripes, that would have been awkward. But... Not having any clear idea where he stood, in relation - ha - to most of the rest of the worlds population... Yamucha was happily single. He added the uncertainy about his own family to his mental list of reasons for remaining that way. Master Roshi had been right to become hermit. Dating ones own kin by accident was a serious risk.

Not that Yamucha was popular at the moment.

There were numerous violent riots going on around the courthouse, these days. The debates kept growing and so did the angry mobs. Yamucha hadn't had much success reasoning with them or trying to get public support for the case. He'd been called a lot of things lately. Most of which had been offensive. As a professional baseball player, he had learned to take heckling in stride - but to be accused of being Saiyan... Nothing had quite prepared him for that. The insult stung. What was the point in even defending the world if people couldn't tell the heros apart from the bad guys?!

Seriously. The spaceship might come in handy before all this was over. Nah. He'd rather go back to the desert hideout. At least in the desert you didn't have to worry about oxygen levels. And outer space was supposed to be cold. Yamucha prefered not to freeze.

He parked the aircar just offshore Kame Island and automatically braced himself. The bandit respected his friends but he always seemed to get the weirdest and worst news from them. So he opened the vehicles door but didn't step out on to the beach. "Feeling better?"

Kuririn did not answer right away because he had, for some reason, decided that the right look for a repairman was to have several nails half-sticking out of his mouth. He was powered down and even using a hammer - with his power, he could have skipped the tools - to put some boards over the hole in the wall. "Working on it." Kuririn eventually muttered, reaching for another board. He did have other places to be but he couldn't just leave the place in shambles.

"And he didn't do this." Umigame chimed in from beside the tool box, having caught the implied meaning of the bandits question.

Kuririn nearly choked on small metal pointy things. "Of course I wouldn't!" He stopped, realized that the hole HAD been a wall of his room until recently and so it might in fact look as if...

"There were pirates." Umigame continued.

"But nobody was hurt!" Kuririn emphasized, while choosing not to mention that Gohan was a pirate.

And Yamucha, still seated inside the car, cringed. Bandits and pirates were sometimes business partners. It was hard to get supplies in the desert, okay? And even the vast southern desert had a shoreline and a river and anyone who lived in the desert had to know where to find water so... He had met the merchants, legal and otherwise, sailing through. But all the pirates that he'd ever known, they wouldn't have avoided causing harm. Yamucha checked the world of ki. Master Roshi and Oolong were not on Kame Island. "Uhm. If nobody was hurt..." Yamucha began and he was choosing not to ask what kind of flag the pirates had been flying.

"The Master has apparently taken up naval hitchhiking." Umigame was polite and could make nearly any kind of questionable behavior sound decent. Especially if it meant defending the reputation of Roshi who was, after all, the Turtle Master.

"Yea..." Kuririn gave the sea turtle a bewildered look. He wasn't quite sure what Roshi had ever done to inspire such selectively-blind loyalty. "And Oolong went with him. And I was invited but I decided to stay here and fix the house. End of story. Nothing to worry about, see?"

Now Kuririn was recieving the bewildered looks.

"Except that a legendary martial artist and a shapeshifting pig are traveling with apparently defenseless pirates." Yamucha pointed out. He wasn't fond of pirates but he was, in this instance, more worried for them. Roshi could be dangerous, Oolong was capable of being moderately dangerous and both of them were tricksters. Traveling with pirates? What were they up to?

"I wouldn't say defenseless..." Kuririn sighed, going back to work on patching up the Kame House but still determined not to mention ChiChi or Gohan.

Yamucha watched for a moment and then said. "Need any help?"

"Weeell..." Kuririn spoke without turning, "If you'd like to help then please drop the charges against Korin. Apparently he can sink islands. That would make these repairs kind of futile, you know?"

"..."

Kuririn nodded sympathetically. "Yea. That's what I said."

"But..." Yamucha started. "If we drop the case... Then... The apprenticeship would resume, wouldn't it?"

And this was why Kuririn hadn't mentioned dropping the charges right away. He was not eager to resume training. He had resolved to go to the Lookout and get Shirley, earlier and had been stalling ever since. Gathering the supplies and making the repairs had been good ways to stall. He could have made the repairs in minutes, with his speed, but he was deliberately not doing so. If he returned to the Lookout... What if he got stuck there again? This had to be some kind of a trick. Or trap. With Shirley and those other kids as bait. Kuririn was fairly sure that Korin must have intended this. Which did not improve his opinion of the immortal cat.

But Gohan, of all creatures, wanted a rematch with Shirley. When had the kids ever fought in the first place?! But... The danger was that Gohan, now that he wasn't just a laugh track, was the strongest creature on the planet and capable of detecting energy. So... Would he be able to find Shirley, at the Lookout? What if the boy got impatient? If Gohan went to the Lookout... And he knew where it was, because he'd fought Garlic Junior...

Hence the situation wasn't just a matter of trying to outwit the immortals anymore. It was a matter of trying to protect Shirley, from Gohan. And also Gohan, from the apprenticeship. Because if anyone asked the demi-saiyan how he felt about defending the planet then he would probably end up getting sworn in. Oolong was on a pirate ship. Puar was probably out on a date, working the legal case or getting the mansion taken care of. Kuririn... Felt trapped, already. The walls of circumstance were closing in. But if he returned to the apprenticeship, at least for now... Then maybe... He could find a way to break this cycle without harming the planet.

This time, he would be more prepared.

"I've got an idea..." Kuririn tried to make the veiled request sound casual.

"Join the club." Yamucha had been thinking about the legal case a lot because he worried for Puar. She was working too hard and snapping at people and not wanting anyone to help her - she assumed that anyone who tried to help her suddenly didn't trust her. Dropping the charges... Might strike Puar as a vote of no confidence, she was taking the case personally. But getting her away from the case meant settling it. And they needed a judge just to settle. And it was going to take special judge, to be willing to negotiate with Korin. They knew a former Emperor. Wasn't it true, that Emperors could be judges? But Chaozu was elusive even to those who could detect energy. So... What about an apprentice guardian, instead?

Kuririn had not studied a great deal of law but he approved of this idea. It fit together nicely with what he'd been originally planning.

Unfortunately Yamucha was not so thrilled by Kuririns original plan. But after some debate and discussion, the friends worked out a compromise and shook on it.

About fifteen minutes later, left alone on the island with the patched up Kame House, Umigame sighed. He wasn't a warrior. And he was young, for a turtle, so he wasn't fast yet - not even in the water because his heavy shell and his relatively short fins were not growing at the same rate. And he didn't understand all human customs but, being a sea turtle, he DID happen to know rather a lot about the ocean. And while not able to detect energy, Umigame had noticed the direction - well, okay so Kuririn had told him earlier - that the pirate ship had gone. And that kind of worried him.

**ooxoo**

**F**our bony tailspikes swept through the air, accompanied by a squelching rumble.

Lord Pilaf knew what a stegosaurus was but, being a delusional maniac and a mechanical genius, he was not sure how to turn it on. Or steer it. He'd never really dealt with this kind of thing before. Pilaf currently stood on the dinosaurs head and - after pausing to enjoy the view from this height - looked around for a lever or something.

"Uhm..." Shou stood on the ground below and resisted the impulse to flee in terror. He had not gone inside the animal shelter and he certainly hadn't expected for a stegosaurus to walk out. Maybe the enormous lizard had been capsulized? How else could it have fit into the building? But the shelter staff had claimed to be too broke for capsules, that's why Mais car was now fully loaded with dangerous chemicals. And this left Shou in a remarkably bad predicament. Because he needed a ride. And his options were: A)squeeze into a car full of dangerous chemicals or b)climb up onto the back of a grumpy stegosaurus. A dinosaur that Pilaf was going to try and give orders to.

Mai had gotten all of the animals out of the shelter and the majority of those animals had sensibly run away. Others had slithered, flown, burrowed or limped away. But a scattered few had remained - including a bowl of goldfish - and had been reluctantly herded up the tail and onto the stegosaur. They were cringing between the rows of plates that protruded from the dinosaurs back. Pilaf was already calling the animals minions. An army to stand against Red Ribbon, perhaps. The animals did not understand this. Shou and Mai were skeptical but loyal.

The stegosaurus had a name. Spike. The creature had been found wearing a collar with that name engraved on the tag - it still wore that collar. Which meant that someone had domesticated this thing. Maybe Spike would take orders? But what kind of orders might a stray dinosaur understand?

Lord Pilaf poked around the collar as if honestly expecting to find a button labeled 'go'.

"I think it requires voice commands, sir." suggested Mai from the safety of the sidewalk. "Maybe giddy up? Or fetch?"

Shou suppressed the urge to look for a thrown stick. He was humanoid, yes, but also still a dog on some level. His ears twitched at the mention of 'fetch'. But his eyes hadn't left the large lizard towering over them. "Uhm..." Being nervous, Shou tensed and made the mistake of squeezing the mangled tiny red cat that he'd been carrying.

"REOW!"

A small dazed wild-eyed bundle of dishelved red fur sprang into the air, waving its limbs and claws and baring a set of fangs that could have made even a prehistoric shark die of envy. This feline had, since staggering into existence yesterday, been making a stream of incoherant - and often conflicting - resolutions. Lose weight. Take over the world. Beat up the rodent. Lose weight. Destroy the strange dog. Be nicer to people. Bite the lady. Exercise more. Take over the world. Recycle. Quit smoking.

The cat did not smoke, it still didn't have any weight to lose and it wasn't sure what recycling meant. But all that anyone around it had noticed so far was that this poor little cat looked like roadkill and seemed to be in pain, it kept clenching a tiny paw. No one beyond the cat understood that each time the cat made a resolution, it did this. And the resolutions didn't have to make sense because who kept all their resolutions anyway? Even the less than sane kitten was aware that not keeping resolutions was acceptable - it was making them that counted. Oh and the cat was also aware that it had been named: Delerious.

It had resolved to find out what the name meant. Then it had resolved to take up painting. The cat had less than no clue as to what painting might actually involve.

Yet mangled and dazed though Delerious was, the cat was not fond of being held too tightly. Being carried was permissable because Delerious had trouble walking. Delerious simply did not have that kind of coordination. However the cat interpreted being squeezed as an attack against it. So it reacted defensively. The little feline continued to flail in midair, hissing and spitting. After a short arc through the air - perhaps predictably - Delerious landed on Spike. And promptly sank the teeth in. But while the teeth had been fatal for an ordinary rat, the cat was very small. A bite from Delerious had only numbed Mais hand. The dinosaur was just another example of literally more than the cat could chew.

Spike was, on some delayed primitive level, still amazed at how much pain such a tiny creature could cause. The stegosaurus reacted by doing the dinosaur equivalent of a yelp before stampeding off, to try and escape the pain.

"AHHH!" Lord Pilaf clung to the collar and his faint screaming could be heard even after the now half-rabid dinosaur was out of sight. "Cease! Desist! Brake! Decelerate! LISTEN AND OBEY, you stupid reptile!"

Shou stared at the wide array of trampled destruction that Spike had left behind. Not that the world had been in great shape to begin with but now there was a zig-zagging trail of stegosaurus-sized footprints in the asphalt. "Uhm..." He couldn't think of what else to say.

"At least we'll be able to follow them." Mai muttered, she was looking at her car. Which was currently - thanks to the successful robbery - full of boxes containing the chemicals that were normally used, at the shelter, for putting animals to sleep terminally. She wondered if they had enough of the chemicals to sedate a rampaging dinosaur.

**ooxoo**


	38. Surprises: December 6th, 763 A

_**Eclipse**_

**by DoraMouse**

**ooxoo**

**Surprises: December 6th, 763 A.D.**

**E**ternal peace. Didn't that sound nice? No more pain. No more worry. No more training. That's what death was. No more paying the bills or avoiding paying the bills or... Everything about life just ceased to be. All the friends and enemies and memories and lessons and struggles and triumphs and failures - in the end, what did it come down to? Forever was a long time. Emotional baggage was still a sort of baggage. You couldn't take it with you, not forever. People changed. People learned. Sooner or later souls would drop the excess weight.

That's how death was supposed to be.

Something was wrong. Tenshinhan had been dead once before. He'd been on the path before. He had seen other human spirits, last time. There had been a lot of them, last time. Most had died when the Saiyans had landed. But even though the invading Saiyans had been the leading cause of death on Earth... They'd only been the leading cause of death on Earth for a few minutes, in mostly one city. People all over the world and even within East Capital had continued to die from other causes. Traffic accidents and work accidents and disease and natural disaster and... The spirits from Earth had all come to this place and lined up on this path. Waiting for judgement. And those spirits, so recently human, had already been losing their shape. They'd been turning to bright clouds.

Tenshinhan was on the path outside Lord Enmas office. The path was empty now and he was still human shaped.

This did not make any sense.

What did it mean? If the path was empty... Had people on Earth stopped dying? How was that even possible? Humans were mortal. Humans and animals and plants... What could have happened? And if creatures WERE still dying then... Where were those ghosts? Why weren't they coming here? Lord Enma couldn't take a vacation, could he? Was judgement closed for some reason? There was at least one other ghost that SHOULD be here, Tenshinhan knew. He'd seen the samurai die. But he couldn't even detect... And he was healthy, now. He didn't have a physical body to restrict and interfere with the power of his soul. His third eye wasn't slowly killing him anymore. He should be able to detect...

All that he could detect right now was the witch.

But his soul... That was kind of bugging him, too. Because he'd only been allowed to remain human shaped the last time for the purpose of training. And Tenshinhan hadn't intended to train, this time. Increasing power... It was a pointless struggle. Humans could not keep pace with alien races, that's what the evidence indicated. Even if Tenshinhan got wished back to life with new limits - and he didn't want to be, so he couldn't be - he couldn't expect to be on par with the Saiyans.

He'd been willing to just die and stay dead. He had been willing to let go of everything. So why should his soul be staying human shaped?

Tenshinhan had even kept his scar, this time. And it ached. Being brought back to life apparently only healed the injury that caused death, unless you were blown up. And since his first death had not been explosive... Since the scar had not been caused by the same injury that had killed him... The scar had not been healed. It had remained on his physical corpse, in spite of reincarnation. But the scar hadn't actually come with him, the last time he'd been a ghost. Tenshinhan peered at the crimson line on his shoulder under the ghostly memory of his cloak. This had to be some kind of warning...

"Where did you get that?" said a voice. It was familiar.

It was an assassin.

There were only two assassins that had ever been able to sneak up on Tenshinhan. And only one of those was currently dead.

Tao Pai Pai stood there, head tilted to one side and hands folded behind his back.

He appeared remarkably solid, for a ghost. He was wearing...a really badly tailored suit... As if he'd had to grab something off the rack in a rush. But it was him. Without a doubt. Tao Pai Pai. The former Worlds Greatest Assassin. He was tall and kind of scrawny. He had a thick mustache, a braid of dark hair that hung down his back nearly reaching to his ankles and the type of nose that appeared ready to plow fields. He also had the crooked smirk of a teacher who could literally get away with murder. For a fee, of course.

Tenshinhans soul was extremely human shaped while a million or so grudges resurfaced. Resolving to let go was sometimes easier than letting go. He resisted the impulse to drain his soul by launching some energy attacks and eventually spoke, in a voice that could have sharpened daggers. "You...gave me...this."

"Excuse me?" Tao had, despite being the more deadly of the brothers, also been the more likeable. He'd tempered his arrogance with humor. The Crane Master had never had much of a sense of humor. The Crane Master had always been grouchy and secretive. Tao hadn't. Tao had taken pride in being open and honest with everyone. With his caliber of skill - why lie? As the Worlds Greatest Assassin, he could get away with telling the truth. Even the truths that nobody liked. "No. I think I'd remember that."

When there was no response, Tao shrugged and continued in a melancholy tone. "The last thing I remember of life is having the snot beaten out of me by this annoying little boy with a tail. He rode on a cloud. It was very strange. Happened a few days after the 21st Tournament."

"But..." Tenshinhan reluctantly filled in his former mentor on the events since then.

Tao listened and was surprised. "ME?!" He laughed once the summary was finished and then shook his head. "You're serious, aren't you? You really believed that..." Taos expression became a blend of disappointed and distraught. "Why would I enter a Budoukai? That's not a place for assassins! We have our own tournaments, you know that! And I've always defended my brother, yes - but taking orders from him? Was that not a clue? And a weapon? Do I even need to remind you, I was only eight years away from..."

For some reason - and Tenshinhan had never had any idea what that reason was - if a fighter wanted to earn the respected title of '-sennin' then they had to be over the age of three hundred. It was an elite group. Korin was the Neko-sennin. Roshi was the Kame-sennin. The Crane Master had been, tada, the Tsuru-sennin. And Tao Pai Pai... Who was claiming to have died thirteen years ago, at age 291... Had been working towards a respected title of his own: Kaeru-sennin, The Frog Master. Because that was the title which best suited his style. Tao had not just been infamous for being an assassin. He'd been infamous for being able to stand in front of someone, stick his tongue out and poke a lethal hole in their skull. With a single strike from his tongue, Tao had killed people. He'd been infamous for being able to pick up a normal wooden board, throw it into the air with a great deal of force, jump on to it and ride the board from one village to the next. He'd had the kind of jumping skills that had made learning to hover almost an afterthought. And he had invented the Dodonpa.

Why would anyone capable of all that ever be reduced to using a knife? And why would the Worlds Greatest Assassin, a near official legendary martial artist in his own right, need to break the tournament rules to win? What Tao had lacked in power and speed - and only around the Kame students might that have been an issue - he could have made up for with nearly three centuries worth of fighting experience and strategy. Not that he would enter such a boring tournament as the Tenkaichi Budoukai in the first place. Tao had never gone to the World Tournament in his whole life. He could have and he hadn't. There were other tournaments, Tenshinhan did know, where killing an opponent was permitted. Those were more suitable places for a professional assassin to advertise their skills. Plus the prize money was better.

"It's like a novel where the author is lazy." Tao muttered darkly, he did not like what he'd been told. "You can't just leave me dying and then turn the page and say: _But who cares about him! Now it's three years later!_"

Yet fate had done exactly that.

Tenshinhan was starting to catch on to the idea that his mentor had been dead for years before they'd even heard about his death. And so... The cyborg... If Tao had died shortly after the 21st Tournament... And the cyborg hadn't appeared until the 23rd Tournament... That was six years. Had the Crane Master known the whole time? Or had the Crane Master only known after the 22nd Tournament? Had it taken six years or three years for the infamous assassins corpse to be transformed?

"My elder brother always used me as a shield." Tao frowned, "It does not surprise me that he would get a puppet made in my likeness to keep his own enemies at bay."

"It wasn't a puppet, it was a cyborg." Tenshinhan emphasized, "Built from your corpse. It looked like you. It had your voice and your energy. It used a laser canon to try and mimic The Fingertip Blast. It claimed to have been awake the entire time that..."

"Red Ribbon let me die! I was working for them, when that brat left me for dead." Tao snapped. "Why would I allow anyone to take me back to them, for help to remain alive?! Why should I have trusted them? How could you have believed...?!"

"...that kid with the tail? Once a person meets him, they soon lose track of all the unbelievable things that they have seen."

"But you have an advantage!" Tao sounded incredulous, he tapped a finger lightly against his own transparent forehead. "And the pale one was a decent psychic! Between the two of you... You were always able to see the truth of things! That's what made you both such good students! You weren't fooled by disguises. You weren't caught in traps or lies. You could tell what needed to be questioned or approached with caution." Tao began to fade into a cloud of fog, as if his spirit wasn't able to hold on to the memory of his shape for any longer, though his voice lingered even after his form faded. "When did you forget? Unbelievable things are often unbelievable for a good reason: they are not true! If my corpse was awake to become a cyborg then it was awake with an imposter inside of it! And if I had ever resorted to using a knife against my own students... Then you would have come here many years ago!"

Tenshinhan was privately stunned. The warning was noteworthy but... More than that, Tenshinhan had never expected to hear that he was a good student from any of his teachers. He'd always known this fact and his friends had told him as much but... Kami had been the only teacher to praise them and that hadn't meant as much because Kami had only trained them for eight months and Kami had praised everyone. King Kai had mostly ignored them. Korin had seemed neutral. Roshi had been reluctant to comment on students of his former rival - and it was hard to take his comments seriously anyway. The Crane Master had been a grouch and had only ever bragged about his students to other people - not to the students themselves. Tao... In life... Had been honest but never overly talkative. And even the soliders who had raised Tenshinhan and taught him about weapons... Had teased him more than anything else. So hearing any sort of praise was just beyond unexpected. But for the praise to also be sincere...

With a slight stinging sensation, the scar in his shoulder healed. But only a little bit. Not all the way. It didn't vanish. Which, as soon as he recovered from the shock of being praised by someone who'd often threatened to end his life, Tenshinhan did not like. Because he understood immediately that getting rid of the whole scar might require more confrontations. Was this the path to eternal peace? Did he have to erase the scar in order to rest in peace? Who else was he going to have to speak with? Everyone that he'd ever known or targeted? That could take a while.

There was a shadow taking shape by the doorway of Lord Enmas office. It was ghostly. It was humanoid. It was familiar.

And Tenshinhan really wished that it wasn't familiar. Because at the top of the long list of people that he'd never ever wanted to see or speak to again... Was this person. Whom he hadn't seen since before - well, during - a certain ugly political revolution.

It was the only person that he'd ever killed by accident. And 'person' was not even an entirely accurate description, in this case.

**ooxoo**

**P**iccolo was meditating. What else could he do? He didn't have access to the afterlife and even if he did, he wasn't in a rush to get between two spellcasters. He wasn't trained to withstand magic. He'd barely been trained at all, really. He was eleven. He'd pretended to ignore Gohan for a year in the wilderness - although by the end of that year, he had been on close terms with the kid. He'd actually ignored some of the best warriors on Earth for nearly a week in the afterlife. He'd attempted to ignore Vegeta, repeatedly, while the Saiyan had been stranded on Earth. He'd fused with a warrior and been born from a warrior and was spirit-bound to another warrior... And between Nails, his father and his uncle... Piccolo had been given the power and the skill to become what he currently was. He had inherited everything that he'd needed, to be formidable in battle.

And he was currently meditating.

He'd tried to get to the afterlife. There were ways. There were paths from the Lookout. Piccolo had taken them before. He'd been dragged down them, a few times, to visit the afterlife dentist. But the Lookout had been sealed to him. Or maybe it had been sealed because of the apprentices. Maybe Kami hadn't wanted the cat or the pig or Kuririn coming into the afterlife. Perhaps Mister Popo had shut down the dimensional doorways, in order to discourage escape. Maybe Korin had sealed the gates. Or even the witch... If she was in the afterlife, she had the power without a doubt... Maybe the witch was preventing anyone else from coming. Maybe she wanted to limit the number of allies that Kami had access to.

Why were they even fighting?!

Piccolo did not have an abundance of imagination. He'd thought about maybe someday using the dragonballs to wish for mute buttons on everything but that was, to date, his creative limit.

He was only trying to meditate. It hadn't been going well.

What was a creature supposed to feel, when they expected to be wiped out of existence at any moment? Piccolo hadn't even been tempted... Well, maybe a little tempted... To visit some people and say his farewells but... What could he say? And what if he didn't get the chance to say it all? Why even try to find the words if death by spirit-bond erased him in midsentence? That wasn't going to comfort anyone, to watch him dissolve. Would he dissolve? Or would he blow up? Was it going to be like choking? Or like fusion in reverse? Was it going to hurt?

He was eleven. He'd died once before and been near death at other times but Piccolo had no idea what exactly to expect from death by spirit-bond. And he'd been wide awake and trying to expect it, for every minute of the last seven days and nights.

Which was one of the reasons that meditation was not working for him.

The other main reason was his uncle. Kami kept sending him telepathic messages that were, Piccolo understood, not meant for him. Which was not a good sign. Because it meant that Shenlong was not getting the needed instructions. And it also meant that Kami was frightened and confused. And this meant, even further, that Piccolo could not get his own telepathic messages to his uncle. Because his uncle was not open to hearing from him right now.

It was difficult to remain calm, under these conditions. But the scenary helped. Piccolo had retreated to the mountains. One of the western ranges, he hadn't bothered to learn the human name for the place. There was a nice waterfall here and a river and...

He had no idea, of course, that just over two hundred years ago this meadow had been a battleground. That one of the surviving warlords had looked down on the place and had seen the river turn red with the spilled blood of his allies. This river, that wound like a ribbon through the jagged landscape... It was clear water now, ice cold - melted from the snow of the mountains. The meadow was covered in flowers and tall grass. It was a crossing place for herds of nimble deer, seeking to escape the bears and other creatures that lived in the treeline below. It didn't appear to be the sort of location that had ever been visited by humans, much less hosted a war.

It didn't looked like the sort of location that would be called Teeth of the Dragon but the mountain range was. And this was, on some maps, the Red Ribbon River.

More than even the scenary, what Piccolo cared about was the privacy. The mountains were a natural ki block. And currently, a large part of his mind was a mess of sporadic uninvited telepathy from his uncle. So nobody should be able to locate him by detecting his energy or reading his mind. Maybe not even the witch. Piccolo could only hope. Because if the witch was truly upset with his uncle... And she had to be aware of the spirit-bond that Kami and Piccolo shared... Then she could, even from the afterlife, probably attack them both.

The spirit-bond... His uncle was frightened and confused and perhaps trapped in a place where not many could reach him. But his uncle wasn't hurt. Piccolo hadn't felt any pain from the battle. If Kami was hurt... Or had the witch found a way to isolate even that?

Or had the dragon taken all of the damage so far?

Why would the other gods allow this? Korin and Mister Popo were both warriors and spellcasters. They could reach the afterlife without dying. They had each helped to defend his uncle before - from his father, among other things. Piccolo had heard those stories. And he'd sensed the witch... Maybe the other gods were afraid of her, too?

He thought for a moment of the battle against Garlic Junior. Kami and Mister Popo had been trapped in a denshi jar. Kuririn had released them. While Gohan and Kuririn had worked together to kick Garlic Junior into a dimensional void... Piccolo hadn't been able to help as much as he would have liked. Because his uncle had been off fighting some spirits - previous guardians? - to get the cure for the black mist. This was a mental snag. Previous guardians? Guardians of what? Didn't guardians get sent back to their homeworlds when they retired? Why would the ghosts of previous guardians be Earthbound? And why would any such spirits try to prevent his uncle from curing the population of Earth? The spirits had actually caused his uncle pain. Piccolo had felt it as well and had been floored by it. All of his power and for what? He'd been beaten up via spirit-bond by some cranky ghosts that he had never even met and whose entire existence made no sense. And on the subject of things that made no sense... Really? There had been a cure for the black water mist, just standing by? In case? How long had the guardians been expecting this kind of attack? How many other cures were standing by, just in case and oh so conveniently? And why had only Kami gotten beaten up? Mister Popo had gone with Kami, had the elfin genie not fought?

And where was Korin during all the excitement? Piccolo didn't trust Korin. The immortal cat was far too smug. And the samurai who served the cat, Piccolo knew, hadn't been turned into a zombie. Korin had protected his apprentice. Why hadn't the samurai come to the fight? Eh. That was explainable. Kuririn had probably told the warrior not to bother. Although... Kuririn did not seem like the type to turn down extra help, actually. And even Gohan was rarely confident enough to say something along the lines of 'you stay here while we handle this' to an adult. Had Korin given the samurai a reason to stay away from the battle?

And where had the witch been? She'd allowed her own little brother to be turned into a mindless zombie. That seemed kind of... Well. Piccolo was not fond of Master Roshi or anything but he had to admit that permitting a dangerous martial artist to become, even temporarily, a mindless zombie seemed a smidge reckless. And the witch was also psychic so she must have known in advance...

What might have happened, if Vegeta or Goku had been on Earth two months ago? Would they have been allowed to become mindless zombies? Would they have taken sides with Garlic Junior? Or would they, independantly and without conscious control, have just flat out destroyed the planet? What if Kuririn or Gohan had not been underwater? What if Tenshinhan had been feeling better? Would they have all been zombies? What had prevented the bandit - who HAD been turned into a zombie - from powering up and causing damage? What had prevented even the pale warrior...

Hey... Had the pale warrior been turned into a zombie or not?

Piccolo couldn't remember anyone mentioning this. And he hadn't asked. Because he hadn't cared. He was starting to feel curious, though.

He'd been with the other warriors for a little over a month in the afterlife, traveling to King Kais world. Piccolo had only really ignored them for a week - the week ON King Kais world. He'd been pretending to ignore them, most the rest of the time. Because he had been upset with them for dying. Piccolo hadn't wanted to be involved in the battle to save the Earth, not originally. He wouldn't have worn weighted clothes to such a battle, if he'd been planning to get involved. He'd fully expected for these friends of Goku - because they had all survived BEING friends of Goku - to step up and have the whole invading Saiyan problem under control. Even after detecting the significant gap in energy levels, Piccolo had hoped to remain a spectator. And not just because he'd still wanted, on some level, to conquer the world for himself someday.

Gohan was demi-saiyan. Piccolo had gradually gained respect for the boy. Evil as Nappa and Vegeta had been... They were Saiyan. Destroying them in front of a demi-saiyan... A year before, it wouldn't have mattered. But after becoming Gohans friend... Even if it had been possible for Piccolo to kill Vegeta and Nappa... Piccolo might have hesitated. Because if Piccolo could kill a purebred then how was the respected halfbreed supposed to feel? What if the kid needed some Saiyans around when he grew up, so that he could ask them questions about his heritage? What if seeing a Saiyan die made the kid remember his Uncle Raditz again? What if the boy figured out who had truly killed his father in that battle against his uncle? It would ruin the friendship, wouldn't it? Piccolo didn't have - or need or want - many friends. But the ones that he had... The world could just crumble before he risked them. Because making friends was not easy for the green self-proclaimed demon. And he didn't want to have to endure trying to make new ones.

He also wasn't sure that he could survive losing his current ones. Was there a way to end a friendship without ticking someone off or dying? Piccolo didn't know. He didn't have that much experience with friendship and currently had no reason to speculate in this direction.

So. Anyway. A little more than a month in the afterlife... It hadn't taken long to appreciate that even though the Saiyans had destroyed these people with ease... The humans were dangerous in ways that power didn't measure. They had completed training harder than the gods had allowed Goku to do and in less time than Goku had taken. Kami had trained Goku for three years. King Kai had trained Goku for a whole year. Korin had trained Goku for... Piccolo wasn't sure. That had happened before Piccolos creation. He wasn't clear about the timeline. But he'd heard about the others. He'd seen it for himself. Kami had trained the Earths Special Forces for eight months. King Kai... All three of the human spirits who had come to the blue gods world, they'd finished the formal training in a week - before Piccolo had been reincarnated. The human warriors had not, as far as Piccolo knew, been born with their powers. They had gained their reputations from study and training. They had invented their own attacks.

Saiyans bragged about getting stronger when they survived a tough battle. Maybe Saiyans weren't the only ones who could do that. Perhaps not all forms of strength were related to power. Maybe learning from the past experiences was an important part of the equation. It took a certain strength, didn't it, to even try and prepare for the future. It took a certain courage, to be willing to confront your own fears.

A little more than anything else Piccolo wished that he could forget what he'd seen recently at the witches arena. Kuririn had fought with his own evil side. Piccolo was the descendant of an evil side. Watching Kuririn deal with the purification... Had made it painfully clear to Piccolo that, in some ways, his uncle was not his uncle. Kami had been split. Daimio was not a brother - he was the evil side. The evil side is not a relative, it is a piece of the whole. Daimio had created Piccolo, Daimio had been the one to spit out the egg but... Kami probably had an equal claim, in truth, to fatherhood. Because his uncle was, in strictly technical terms, the good side of his father. Which also, in strictly technical terms, probably made Piccolo the only living Namek who sort of had two parents. Except that they - Daimio and Kami - had started out being the same creature.

Piccolo hated to even contemplate this. Life was just a lot simpler when he didn't. But the spirit-bond had transferred to him which seemed evidence that the link existed. He wasn't a nephew, he was the son.

Gohan was a demi-saiyan. That made the boy demi-human as well, apparently. Meanwhile Piccolo knew himself to be at least half-demon but... Was the other half plain Namekian? Or part Guardian?

And what did it make the noseless girl with the pointy ears and dark spikey hair? She was at least a third human. Not that Piccolo cared about what happened to her.

No. He really didn't.

Really.

Not unless there was a way to dump the spirit-bond on to her, instead. If she was Namekian enough... If she was related somehow... Maybe she could take the link with Kami and free Piccolo from it. And that... Well. Among other things, dying by spirit-bond would no longer be a worry for him. That would be okay. Piccolo wouldn't miss that. And binding his uncle - and he was going to keep thinking of Kami that way, no matter what - to an annoying little pointy-earred girl... As far as Piccolo was concerned, that would be a sort of ironic justice.

But he didn't have much imagination, Piccolo told himself. So he also had no clue how to find out if a transfer was possible. Or how to get the transfer done. And he was in the mountains and barely able to hold a stream of thought together, with all the uninvited telepathy that was meant for the dragon. And he'd last seen the girl up at the Lookout where she had been training with Korin. And she'd been standing right there and not detectable. So if she wasn't still at the Lookout, there was no way that Piccolo would be able to find her. And if she WAS still at the Lookout... Would Korin protect her? The girl had been wearing the mark of the cat on her fighting uniform. And the mark of the witch. And she'd been training with other kids and with the apprentices. Would any of them protect her?

Would the girl even need protecting? She seemed able to fight. She could reverse energy.

What would happen, if he challenged the kid?

A leaf carried on a strange breeze smacked him in the face. Piccolo removed it with a scowl and noticed the words, in a handwriting that he'd never seen before, etched into the leaf veins. The message read: That is not a good question.

**ooxoo**

**O**n the other side of the continent, in a different mountain range, was a humble and tidy cabin. Although there was plenty of evidence that numerous repairs had been made and at least one window had been recently replaced and... This cabin had been through a lot, lately. So had the person who lived there.

Chaozu was not in the mood to seek company. He knew that he should perhaps go and try to find Piccolo but he just didn't feel like it right this moment. And he had the whole set of dragonballs on hand - kept in a neat little capsule - so that eliminated the need. As long as the dragonballs didn't turn to stone, that meant that Kami and Piccolo were both still alive.

Probably.

It was hard to be certain of anything when an epic magical battle was underway in the afterlife. Normal rules didn't exactly apply anymore. If anyone could find a loophole in the rules of the universe, it was the witch. Or Goku. But mostly the witch. What Goku did, when he won and/or survived against all odds, was a strange knack. What the witch could do - that was not a mere knack. She had hundreds of years worth of practice.

Which was, on some level, depressing. Honestly though Chaozu was just plain depressed. By everything. For now. His best friend had died and wanted to stay dead. His student - a five year old! - had figured out how to use telekinesis to die. The only reason he even needed to have the dragonballs around anymore was to, if the artifacts activated, wish the samurai back to life. Chaozu wasn't entirely sure if reincarnation was also an option for the kid, all things considered.

The reasons for this caused further depression. And the fact that he was on his own in the cabin...

One of the duties of an Emperor had been to act as a judge in special cases. The judge listened to both sides - and both sides would lie. Witnesses were called and they'd often lie, as well. The people involved all had their own spins and exaggerations to put on the story, to try and make the accused seem either more guilty or more innocent. But somewhere in among all the lies... Would be a thread of truth. And the ability to find that truth was prized. And once you had learned the skill, it went everywhere with you. And it was an especially useful survival skill, for an Emperor. This was how Chaozus ancestors had first become psychic. Being psychic had allowed them to keep the Imperial Court, where noble people bent the truth on a daily basis, under control. Mostly. Chaozu had been skilled enough to know that the empire was not politically sustainable. And he'd been constantly surrounded by other people - teachers and guards and attendants, among others - so seeing the future... Seeing _their_ potential futures...

He couldn't see his own future, not usually. That was the problem with being alone. Because being alone often meant not seeing the future _at all_.

But you didn't have to see the future, to see the patterns in the past.

And even though he hadn't usually been left alone - the retinue had followed him everywhere - not seeing his own future had been a very serious problem, as an Emperor. Because there had been certain...events...in his future that hadn't been in anyone elses. So he hadn't always had much warning... Well. No. He sort of had. They'd stuck him on the throne. They'd told him a lot of things but he'd been distracted from their speeches by what they were thinking. Not all of their words had registered. Until it had been too late.

Chaozu could make the rare claim of having been effectively divorced before he'd even known that he was, in fact, married.

Neatly folded on a table in the cabin was the yellow tunic that Ranshin had worn. The clothes that she'd gotten from Kami. The clothes that Chaozu had bought replacements for because he didn't want to see the five symbols down the front. Because he knew what all five of those symbols meant. Although he only knew the one at the bottom because Ranshin had told him what it was. Chaozu had heard of the Jitsugen clan but hadn't recognized their mark. He'd been a tad more distressed by the four stacked above it.

The second from the bottom, right above the mark of the Jitsugen dojo was... The mark of Chaozus former empire. Which Chaozu had taken to mean him BUT the mark had also belonged, of course, to his ex-wife. Who was dead.

She'd been killed by accident. During the revolution.

Chaozu'd had no idea that she was his wife. Nor had Tenshinhan. Or any of the guards.

So it was still awkward to think about.

He tried not to.

But the fact was this: no one else had known about her, either. Not REALLY. Because... It was symbolism gone wrong, basically. When placed on the throne and crowned and blessed and all the rest... That was the ceremony. An Emperor - well, the divine part of the Emperor, apparently - was symbolically married to the Empire. The mortal part of the Emperor was later locked into a special palace full of power-hungry females and told to work on creating heirs. And that was considered acceptable because the soul of the Empire was not, ever, supposed to take on a human shape and manifest. But she had. And her...fundamental strangeness...had allowed them, after accidentally killing her, to gradually figure out what they'd just done.

If she had stayed alive then perhaps Chaozu would still be an Emperor. But her death had sealed the fate of the empire and had guaranteed the destructive success of the revolution. And, to be perfectly honest, she had died with a contented expression. Maybe death had been her wish? Because of her death, Chaozu had gained freedom from the throne and all the rituals and expectations and rules that went with it. And he hadn't been even remotely tempted to try and rebuild the empire or apply for any other active political jobs, not unless being an assassin was considered a political job. Which, sometimes, it probably was. But he tried not to think of it that way because it was still awkward to think about.

And the neatly folded tunic wasn't helping.

The third mark up was Master Mutaito. The fourth mark up was Mutaitos wife, now known to the world as Madame Uranai Baba. The fact that there even was a fifth mark - that was kind of disturbing all by itself. What kind of mark could be stacked above the witch? Korin wouldn't have put his mark there - he considered the witch to be an equal, at least. Mister Popo wouldn't have either. Kami would have put his mark under Mutaitos, out of respect.

Kami was the Guardian. And the Guardian was symbolically married to the planet. And the soul of the Earth also had a mark. And THAT was a mark that could sit above even the witch. Because the witch didn't answer to the gods. The witch answered to the goddess.

And there it was, at the top of the stack.

The mark looked like a flower. A five petal cherry blossom.

Immortals were eccentric. What else could you say? The goddess... Well. She was the soul of a planet. And the planet was more than four billion years old, maybe. And yet the goddess was also, on some level, mortal. Semi-immortal. Demi-mortal. Vulnerable. Chaozu was not overly fond of immortals or demi-mortals or quasi-maybe-immortals. The goddess was not an easily understood topic. How could anything be only partially immortal? Chaozu had BEEN there himself, as an Emperor, and he wasn't sure. Did being demi-immortal mean that you only partially died when you died? Because immortals could still die. Kami had proven that. And Chaozu had died twice. And it had always felt like...well...death. So was he no longer part divine? What was the difference? He didn't get it.

But grief had a way of making some things crystal clear and, especially as a former Emperor and the survivor of a symbolic marriage himself, Chaozu was starting to understand that Kami was going to need more help. Because if Kami didn't know what to expect... Then the Guardian was going to suffer.

And here was another reason not to try and locate Piccolo: _Oh hi - did anyone ever mention that you have an aunt? Sort of. And she's waking up from an incredibly long hibernation. And now that I think about, it seems possible that the witch - the most dangerous mortal human and absolute last resort - has decided to kick your uncle all over the afterlife until he remembers your aunts name. He might need to try and remember the witchs real name, as well._

Hopefully, between Yajirobes ability to solve riddles and the visionary skills of two triclops and the power of an eternal dragon and the potential power of the divine sword... They could find the names.

Otherwise the Earth might need a new Guardian. To say the least.

Which was depressing, by the way. Especially since Chaozu wasn't sure what he could to do to help, from here. Earth was full of ruins and paperwork - where could a search for long-lost names even begin? Would it do any good to visit Master Roshi? Could Piccolo have inherited any such knowledge? Was Korin going to be open with this kind of information, if he remembered it? Had Kuririn studied anything like this at Orinji Temple?

The tunic... Kami had given Ranshin the clothes. Kami had put the marks on the tunic, right? If the Guardian remembered the marks of these creatures, maybe HE hadn't completely forgotten the names. THAT seemed like the best bet. But how to connect with Kami and activate those memories, from here?

Finding Piccolo seemed like a slightly better idea, now.

But the cabin was still in a bad location. Chaozu couldn't detect anyone from here. And he couldn't find the green warriors mind. And... Over the past two months Chaozu had done enough flying all around the planet and explaining things to last him forever. So... Maybe instead of locating Piccolo and attempting to use the Namek as a connection, Chaozu should just try to connect directly to someone in the afterlife. Which was not something that he'd ever done before, while alive.

Yet it was, oddly enough, exactly the kind of signal that the Tien Shan Han mountain range - sometimes called The Celestial Rocks - amplified.

**ooxoo**

**I**n the afterlife, Madame Uranai Baba could have taken any form. Especially now that she had all her powers coming back. Despite this, she remained human. She remained short and old. This was a deliberate choice. She was not going to give anyone clues about her name by altering her appearance.

She stood, dressed in black and grinning, on her crystal ball and held in her hands a simple paper fan. This was one of HER tools. Madame Baba held the fan close, resting it against her top lip. Symbols appeared on the paper. Spells. Hundreds of them at a time. It was like loading a weapon. Once the spells were on the fan - with a flick of her hand and a flutter of paper, she could release as many as were needed.

The dragon was retreating.

Shenlong was stronger here and had his own spellcasting tricks as well - but it had been AGES since they'd sparred. The dragon was out of practice.

Madame Baba wasn't.

This was a part of her job, after all.

Behind and all around the witch, the clouds were being taken apart and funneled back together. Then filtered down and... There was an energy attack that Goku had learned - and who the heck had taught the warrior this, the witch wanted to know and had vowed to find out - called Genki Dama, the Spirit Bomb. The basic idea of Genki Dama was this: a warrior collects a sample of the strength from every living thing around him, gathers the collected energy into his hands and launches the attack at his foes. Who hopefully do not just dodge the energy ball or happen to be pure of heart and able to deflect it. To create the Spirit Bomb was time-consuming and placed a strain on the warrior. Which was hardly any wonder since the move was a whole lot closer to being a spell than a true energy attack. So it wasn't practical, for most warriors. The strain came not just from gathering so much energy but from essentially asking a martial arts warrior to try and become a magician. A feat like that wasn't in their training. Yet Goku had survived it.

How? Madame Baba had theories. She hadn't shared them with anyone.

Anyway. Being the Absolute Last Resort when it came to defending the world did, in fact, include a special spell. Genki Dama - Goku must have learned the attack from an immortal, hrm - appeared to be a weakened variation on that spell. So instead of gathering energy samples from nearby living things and trying to blow someone up with the resulting bright sphere... Madame Baba could take all the souls - or as many as were needed - in the afterlife and funnel their energy back into the Earth.

The spell was called, if translated into modern languages, Forgive and Forget.

Earth had dinosaurs. Earth had magical fields. Earth had aliens and shapeshifters and... All kinds of creatures lived on the planet, these days. How could any rock covered in so much life for so long not take on a soul of its own? If insects that lived for a day or humans that only lived for a week could be said to have souls then why not the planet, as well? But the Earth was a provider. Everyone who had ever lived on the planet - they lived because of her. The food and water and resources of nature... The orbit and spin of the world, as it navigated space. The chemicals of the air, the distance from the sun, the gravity - life had been shaped by the conditions on the planet. And the planet had, in turn, been shaped by life. And also drained by it.

Centuries of constantly giving your energy to the more than seven billion creatures who have decided to call you home... Well. The goddess had her limits. She was not invincible. She had gone into a state of shock. The goddess needed help. Warriors could defend her and guard her but the witch alone could revive her.

This was why Madame Baba had opened the lethal arenas around her oasis home. Even when unable to cast the full spell... Allowing some warriors to die in those places... Had helped the planet.

Forgive and Forget meant reclaiming, from the souls in the afterlife, all the energy that the Earth had lost from supporting life. Humans sometimes spoke of coming from ashes and also ending in ashes. Being born from the world and then returning to the world in death. That sort of thing. The concept was true. Madame Baba just hadn't had the power to cast this spell for about three hundred years. So the ghosts had piled up, in the afterlife and beyond. But now that the witch could drastically reduce the spirit population... She had. And so the clouds were funneling back towards the Earth, a spectral river of souls across space. A flowing string of light across the darkness. As the souls were absorbed by the planet they lost memory and individuality and went beyond even the powers of the eternal dragon to reincarnate.

Maybe the last thirty years - and especially the last two - had been so full of...ahem...adventure just because the Earth had not been feeling well? Lifeforms had always fought over the planet but usually her resistance was better. The goddess didn't usually let wars drag out too much, she didn't like being fought over all the time. She had ways of keeping conflict to a minimum. So maybe once the goddess started to recover then life on Earth could resume being slightly less...adventurous?

Due to the witches power being reduced by a bargain... In truth, the goddess had not been fully functional for roughly four hundred years. The previous Guardian had not been nice to the planet - which was why the witch had killed him. Even with the spiritual equivalent of a massive IV now being hooked up, the planets recovery might take a while. Garlic Junior, monster though he was, had actually helped by altering the world population. More dead people meant more souls to draw energy from and also less life on Earth to support. The burden on the provider was reduced. This was WHY the damage had to stay done. It was also WHY Madame Baba had allowed the dark mist to fall to Earth. She had known that the drastic changes would help stabilize the soul of the world.

The Guardian could definitely help to further speed that recovery - AND with more peaceful methods - if only he could be smacked into realizing this.

Madame Baba was not just a witch. She was a mystic. A fortuneteller. A matchmaker. A person who made their living - and she been alive for more than five hundred years so why knock the system - by telling people _some things _and not _all things_. Because what was so mystical, about telling people everything? What good were the answers if people didn't know the questions yet? People didn't usually want to know everything, anyway. Where was the fun of discovery, if they knew everything? And it was also more profitable just to keep answers short and let customers return later, if they had to know more. Let them learn a little at a time. That made it managable. People couldn't remember everything at once.

The Guardian had better start remembering. He'd married the planet. Yes, it was a 'symbolic' marriage but what the heck difference did that make? There had been vows and gifts had been exchanged. The bride had not been present for the ceremony - since the ceremony had taken place at the Lookout and not on Earth - but that was traditional. And also, in this case, fortunate. Because it meant that the bride had been absent for the string of attacks that Daimio, Garlic and even that arrogant creep the Crane Master had launched. And... Well. Yea. The planet was not young. Not by mortal standards. There had been other Guardians, in the past. The bride had hardly needed to attend her own wedding anymore because - there was no point in denying it - she'd been married a few times. Still... Symbolic or not, the most recent marriage was a partnership that had lasted for just over three hundred years now. Kami was a nice enough sort but if he couldn't remember the proper name of his wife then he didn't deserve to be her husband anymore.

One of the husbands, anyway. The World Emperor was symbolically married to the World, too. He wouldn't survive a visit from Madame Baba if she went back to Earth anytime soon. But the current World Emperor, Kyoto Amaterasu, had only been married to the world for the past eleven years. Because Daimio had killed the previous World Emperor, King Furry. So that left Kami as the senior husband to a bride that he might not have actually physically met. Still. Kami had LEARNED about the Earth and watched over her and... Of course, any goddess more than four billion years old was going to have several different titles. Earth and World and Mother Nature - those were just a few such titles. However the goddess did have a name, as well. And the World Emperor might not know it but the Guardian HAD to.

And if Kami couldn't even remember the true name of the witch then she wasn't going to answer ANY of his questions.

Mortal though the witch was, she had killed Guardians before. Because it was part of her job. And the witch took her work very seriously. But she did, also, feel some respect towards Kami. So Madame Baba was willing to keep assaulting the dragon for now. She didn't have to - she was choosing to. That gave the Namek, who was clinging to the dragons left antler and trying to deflect some of the magic, more time.

There was an attempt at telepathy from Earth. _Ooo. Nice use of the heavenly mountain range. _Madame Baba continued to grin, fluttered her fan, released a spell and swatted the attempt at telepathy into oblivion. _But that would be too easy!_

Below, the soul of a battered planet shifted and yawned and rolled over and went back to sleep. Not visibly, though.

**ooxoo**

**O**ut in the wilderness, Piccolo was stalking around with a grumpy expression and trying to figure out who could have possibly written a note on a leaf. Where had the note come from?! He didn't see or hear or detect anyone. And nobody should have been able to find him. He was in the mountains which were natural ki blocks. And he was powered down. And his mind was both guarded and invaded by telepathy from Kami - which mostly consisted of screamed directions and warnings that were meant for Shenlong. So who could have even found him?

In the absence of another warrior or anything humanoid, Piccolo regarded the landscape as empty.

But he was, without being aware of this, standing on someone.

Everyone on Earth was.

The wild birds and insects and plants and fish and nimble deer that resided in the landscape all paused. On some level, but not a visible level, even the river and waterfall and mountain range paused. The energy of the planet was changing. The change was tiny but persistant, it would grow. Sooner or later, even the regular humans and humanoids might notice.

Could the soul of a planet snore?

**ooxoo**

**M**adame Uranai Baba was the most detectable thing in the afterlife. There was no sneaking up on the witch. And the soul of a planet was being coaxed towards consciousness. The journey might take a while but the formerly comatose goddess was snoring. What this meant, for a skilled psychic on Earth, was that now more than ever was the time to invest in headache medication.

**ooxoo**

**I**n the afterlife, a different soul. _Her _name was Meiji. Because the empire had been called that - the Meiji Empire. Meiji was the soul of that place. She had been young, as far as strange lifeforms went. Perhaps if she had lived longer then she would have been given other names as well. But life had been an unpleasant experience at times. Representing the collective consciousness of an empire... Being aware of all the minds that roamed around inside the borders of that place... So many voices in her head, so many feelings flashing through... From the noble to the wicked and the rich to the poor...

Meiji had wanted to help them all - because they were all a part of her. Logically if every single citizen in the empire could be happy and productive then it would, in turn, be good for her own health. Also it would be good for her marriage. The Emperor would have an easier job to do, if the empire was at peace. Being a compassionate idealist Meiji had felt intensely loyal to the First Emperor. So Meiji had manifested. Not always in human shapes. And she'd interacted, trying to help. Usually by repairing things or leaving things that people needed where those people could find the gifts. But... Well. It was hard to please everyone and that was a polite understatement. Some citizens had been thankful for her anonymous random gifts but others had been angry, greedy, fearful or suspicious. And the Emperors... Meiji had been symbolically married to every single one of them. But they'd forgotten about her, after a while. Which hurt. It had reduced her strength, to be forgotten. Yet even that would have been tolerable if all the Emperors had been good people. Unfortunately a few had been corrupt and... It had made her sick. Meiji had shared the suffering of her citizens. She'd had to stop manifesting, during the worst times.

The Last Emperor... Meiji had liked him but she'd witnessed, as well, how much the role of the Emperor had changed. All the rules, the politics, the rituals... Nothing really got done anymore. There were so many limits. How could anyone be expected to reach their potential in such an environment? How awful, that such a cute and smart kid would just have to wither on the throne. Or worse. All over the empire had been the whispers of rebellion because putting a child on the throne was apparently some sort of open invitation to ambitious would-be conquerers. Nobody had expected for the kid to be intelligent or organized or able to resist or defend... Meiji had heard those whispers - how could she not? And they had troubled her. What could she do? How could she help? Should she stand with her citizens or with her husband? She was going to get hurt, either way.

Knowing of the struggles to come, Meiji had chosen a side.

Her death had only been an accident from the perspective of her killers.

Tenshinhan had never expected to hear any kind praise from a teacher. Nor from a past victim. Especially not THIS past victim. But the soul of an Empire can get away with hugging even an assassin. Which meant that Tenshinhan could now count the number of times that he'd been affectionately hugged, in his adult life, on two hands instead of one. It also meant that he was rendered mute.

In combat, the hug was not an uncommon device - it allowed the victim to be drawn closer and often worked well, to catch the target by surprise. A quick hug and a stab to a handy pressure point or a vital blood vessel... As a professional assassin, Tenshinhan was not registering the affection. Instead he was thinking about all the reasons why it was not a good idea to allow anyone to put their hands where he couldn't see them. And this hug was close to being a choke-hold so... Yes, he was already dead. No, that didn't change his opinion.

He escaped without a sound. But Meiji was still on the other side of the door, outside of Lord Enmas office.

Inside Lord Enmas office was...office furniture. Massive office furniture. On Earth, Tenshinhan was considered tall. In this room, he couldn't see the top of the desk without flying. Lord Enma appeared, to anyone who knew of both of them, like Ox King. But Lord Enma was purple-skinned and much bigger. And that was saying something because Ox King was a giant to begin with. Tenshinhan only knew of this because he'd once been dragged - half by Lunch, whom he still regarded with suspicion and half by Chaozu, who had politely insisted that they needed to practice not being assassins in a social setting - to attend the wedding reception of Goku and ChiChi. So he'd met the Ox King, in a kind of glance-across-the-room-and-be-told-who-that-giant-is way. And all that Tenshinhan had really thought about, at the time, was escaping back into solitude. But he'd also considered that being a giant was probably even less fun than being a triclops.

Then, a year ago and for the first time, Tenshinhan had died. Lord Enma was an immortal. Lord Enma was the Judge of the Dead. Lord Enma had the same beard and mustache and general shape as Ox King. He wore the same type of glasses as Ox King. He even wore the same type of horned helmet. But if Lord Enma took off his helmet then he would still have horns. Given the similarities, it was kind of challenging not to wonder if ChiChi was even fractionally descended from the Judge of the Dead. That might help to explain Gohans otherwise inexplicable power.

But only because the office was neat and tidy and apparently empty did the assassin have time to think of these things.

He remembered that Chaozu had complained about this office. Chaozu was short, the office had made him feel microscopic. Kuririn hadn't mentioned it but... Tenshinhan had gained a bit more respect for people who had to endure being short, after being here. No mortal could pass through Lord Enmas office and feel tall.

Where was Lord Enma?

Judgement was something that Tenshinhan had mixed feelings about. He didn't expect to be given a favorable review but he also saw no point in putting it off. He was dead for the second and last time, that was his choice. He was at peace, he kept reminding himself, with the decision. If judgement was the last hurdle to making that peace eternal... Fine. Good. Let the process begin. Hopefully it wouldn't take long. The afterlife was kind of getting on his nerves. Which he hadn't anticipated. Because usually being in the afterlife meant blending in more, less people - or creatures - staring.

But Lord Enma was not here. What right did Lord Enma have, to take a vacation? How could the purple orge be absent? It didn't make any sense. People were still dying! Tenshinhan knew this because he was, after all, one of the more recently deceased.

Someone was staring at him.

Only the witch was detectable, at the moment, so looking for energy signatures seemed pointless. But the stare was coming from the top of the giant desk. So Tenshinhan flew up to see who was there. This was a short trip.

Standing on the surface of the desk, next to the Book of the Dead, was the ghost of a man. He wore a fighting uniform. He was grinning and holding, with the calm air of someone who knew how to be a parent, the ghost of a little girl. Tenshinhan recognized the little girl - it was Ranshin. But he didn't recognize the man.

Master Mutaito had existed before the invention of cameras.

**ooxoo**


	39. Infamy: December 7th, 763 AD

_**Eclipse**_

**by DoraMouse**

**ooxoo**

**Infamy: December 7th, 763 A.D.**

**T**here is a popular cartoon, often used as a motivational poster. It shows a large bird with a long beak who is trying to eat a frog. But the frog is half sticking out of the beak and has a choke hold on the bird. People laughed or got inspired by this image. Few realized how close this cartoon had come to being the mark of a legendary martial artist. Tao, if he'd lived, would have taken it in less than a heart beat. What better way to represent the Frog Master who also happened to be the Worlds Greatest Assassin and the disgruntled younger sibling of the Crane Master? But average people were not aware of this.

Neither were androids.

The cartoon was just one of the motivational posters hanging around Red Ribbons current labs. Android Nine understood that some people took the popular image to mean: never give up. Dr. Gero had probably intended it to mean: quit and I'll kill you. The majority of the posters here did seem to convey that message.

Android Nine did not usually need to be motivated, though. Or inspired. He had programming to guide him. But he was damaged. His programming had gone askew, over time. This had not been overly noticable before. He'd been designed to serve and learn. He'd learned too well. Living around humans and raising genetically built humans - humanity had rubbed off on him, to a degree. Not much. Just enough for him to escape the original labs and strike out on his own and then return and blow the headquarters up and... The explosion had not been good for his computer chips, either. He'd survived in pieces. 12 had tried to transfer him into 11... This was confusing, even for Nine. 11 was dead? How? Okay, 11 had been blown up as well but... Why should an explosion from inside be capable of doing what a much larger explosion from outside hadn't been able to do? That made no sense. And worse, 11 was only gone in spirit - if androids could have spirit and Nine wasn't sure about that. But parts of 11s programming had remained in the body so... Once his consciousness had been transferred over to that body... Nine wasn't sure how much of his programming was truly his own anymore. Things had gotten muddled.

Red Ribbon had captured him. They had captured and deactivated 12. Nine had avoided being deactivated by pretending to still be stuck in the transfer. The humans at Red Ribbon were so busy working on a new android that they hadn't questioned this. They were not aware that Nine had become capable of lying to them.

Nine had learned a lot by listening.

Dr. Gero was still alive - that was scary, how had the old man survived the explosion? - and still in charge. The construction of the new android was the focus of all current research and experiments. Red Ribbon had a contract with the World Government. The androids were supposed to be a planetary defense system. There was a deadline. Red Ribbon had promised to deliver at least three androids for show and inspection. But they only had one under construction and didn't have the time or resources to create two others from scratch. So... Instead of destroying 12... Red Ribbon was going to pass her off as a new creation. 12 had even been assigned a new number. She was 18, now. But it was an act. A sham, a con. 18 would not be reactivated for the demonstration. Red Ribbon only needed something that looked like an android to show the World Government. And Red Ribbon only needed one robot that could truly function in case the Emperor asked for a demonstration. And they were focusing on that one - Android 16.

Nothing about 16 gave Nine peace of mind. He'd overheard the conversations and done the math. A robot with armor that could withstand natural disasters? A robot with an internal bomb that could potentially evaporate the planet? And they still wanted to add other weapons to this thing? Dr. Gero had never been sane to begin with, in Nines humble and computerized opinion but this was just a few steps further towards the abyss. Even his internal computers, which objected to the very nature of his mental independence, would not argue with this kind of math.

The scientists had given him a new number as well. 17. Nine wasn't fond of it. He didn't like to be so close to 16, considering what 16 was likely to become. And Nine also didn't like the idea of being turned into a glorified mannequin and passed off as a new creation to the World Government. But that was what might happen, if Red Ribbon ever noticed that he had finished transferring from one robotic body to another. They'd be bound to deactivate him.

Deactivation was not the same as death, from what Nine understood. Because deactivation meant that people could still do things to you while you were helpless. Also deactivation meant that, in theory and if you survived those alterations, you could be switched back on. Or passed off as new merchandise.

In order to pass 18 off as new, some changes had already been made to her. Most of the changes were cosmetic because that was easier to do. She'd been polished and given a new hair color. Nine shuddered. Androids were not easily creeped out but watching the humans treat a deactivated android like a doll... The humans had picked out new clothes and a different hair style and...

The idea that humans should be allowed to casually select such intimate details of another creatures identity was disturbing. Nine hadn't been able to prevent it which made things worse, as well. Aside from pretending to be a consciousness stuck transferring between two bodies - so the remains of his orginal robot body were still wired to the remains of what had been 11 - he was currently under construction himself, his torso had been opened. The scientists were supposed to be giving him a new internal bomb. Because 11s original internal bomb had been...used. That's what had killed 11. And so even though Red Ribbon was just going to deactivate Nine... They were giving him a new bomb. To Nine this could mean only one thing: after the demonstration for the World Government, Dr. Gero was going to detonate him. And 18 would probably get detonated as well.

Or... worse... If 16 was functional by then... And if 16 proved loyal to Red Ribbon... Then 16 might be commanded to destroy them both.

Nine had been built as a lab assistant. 11 had some fighting skill but had been built to gather data. No part of him was eager to become a warrior. And especially not against something that was being designed as a weapon. By insane humans. No part of him liked the idea that, if deactivated, he would not even have the chance to defend himself. Or 18.

Because 12... She hadn't wanted to die. Nine had been ready to die. He'd tried. It hadn't worked. 12 had saved him. And... According to some fragments of data from 11s computer chips... 12 _liked_ people. She was... The androids did not have a word for love. But Nine understood. He had raised the genetic children, he cared about those kids. He was glad that they'd escaped. He'd been willing to die for many reasons but one of those reasons, Nine realized, was because he'd hoped to take Red Ribbon - at least Dr. Gero - out with him, thus securing the freedom of those kids. He... Had a loyalty to them. Androids DID understand loyalty. His loyalty to the genetics had taken a higher priority than the loyalty to Red Ribbon, in fact. Which was how his programming had allowed him to commit the deed of exploding the exact same headquarters where he had been designed and built. And so if 12 had, in her data gathering, crossed paths with people that she felt loyalty to... Then... Even if she was truly 18 now, even if all her memories had been erased... Nine wanted to save her and help her honor that loyalty.

He also STILL wanted to kill Dr. Gero.

And just because he wasn't a warrior, that didn't mean he wasn't dangerous.

Lying on a table, half open and wired to the battered remains of his original robot body... This did not prevent him from having a limited range of motion. Sort of. Nine could not get up. But Red Ribbon scientists had made the mistake of plugging him into a computer. The computer was supposed to be monitoring him - he lied to it and told it that he was still transferring. This did not require a lot of energy. So Nine sent the rest of his energy through the wires. He claimed the computer, found the network and went in search of Android 16. If the humans were building and programming 16... Then that android had to be plugged in as well.

Perhaps Nine could fight the monster while it was under construction. Or, better yet, perhaps he could attack the entire network...

**ooxoo**

**A** popular game, among humans in taverns, is to see who can sing the most off key. Another game, not so popular but still fairly common, involves allowing mildly impaired people in a crowded room to throw small sharp objects at a moderately distant target in order to see if they can hit close to the middle. This game is called darts. It had possibly been invented by a drunken madman with an enchanted sword and had since become a sport. Humans thought it was great fun. Dartboards were not so thrilled. Imagine how it feels to be a dartboard.

Yajirobe had a fairly good idea. Skilled though he was... His spirit form was full of scratches. If he hadn't already been dead then he would have been killed several times. And that was a tad discouraging. However for the soul of a samurai, the fact that he was being given friendly tips on swordplay from a ghost who was defeating him in armed combat without even using a sword was far more discouraging. He had been not-killed repeatedly by the oar of a row boat which wasn't even ranked as a weapon and he was currently using, for his defense, The No Ken. A divine katana. This was just incredibly insulting. Or it would have been, if anything other than the ghost of an absolute legend had been his opponent.

Losses against Musashi were probably not anything to be seriously embarrassed by. It was like Goku - Yajirobe HAD been a part of the heros training, at Kamis Lookout - if Goku defeated you, so what? Goku defeated everyone, sooner or later. Why take it personally? It was just a fact of life around legends. You might as well get upset about having a pulse. Or not having a pulse, as the case may be.

Korin had definitely planned this.

Yajirobe understood that he was being trained. Not just because he did, at some point, have to find a way to get between a witch and a dragon but because someday... In order to not just be an apprentice anymore... He was going to have to challenge Korin. The Tora-sennin. The Immortal Tiger. Who had not even begun to... Yajirobe knew - or at least, hoped that he knew - what he was up against and didn't want to dwell on that yet. He had to at least try to block the stupid oar.

The oar changed direction and sailed through him. Yajirobe was a ghost so this did not do him any harm but it was annoying. Musashi was...well...legendary. It was hard to pick apart a defense that didn't seem to have any openings.

The No Ken was divine. Why wasn't the blade helping more? Shouldn't the sword have special powers in the afterlife or something?

Yajirobe had no idea.

He was still trying to use it like a plain katana. He'd had a lot more experience with just plain katanas. The enchanted blades and the masterworks - they were nice to collect and handy to use, around dangerous opponents like renegade ninjas but... All of his previous formal training had been done with plain swords. He'd survived a war with plain swords. Yajirobe wasn't accustomed to anything else. And The No Ken, even though it had quirks, looked very plain.

And so most of the advice from Musashi was along the lines of: _Let the damn sword be what it wants to be. You can't tell a philosophers blade how to act. I know that blade. I knew that philosopher, I haunted him. He's a cat but he took the form of a human sometimes..._

Yajirobe understood what this meant and didn't like it.

It meant that The No Ken, which had been a gift to Korin... Had been a gift that Korin had given himself.

Which also meant that Korin was the other legendary swordsman who had been banned from participating in the Tenkaichi Budoukai. Forever.

That information sort of threw the whole dragon and witch situation into the background. Because if the Immortal Tiger wanted his apprentice to learn how to use this sword _now_... Then maybe Korin was thinking of retirement. Maybe Yajirobe would have to challenge him sooner rather than later. And that meant risking worse than death. And Yajirobe was not quite confident enough to want to take those risks, right away. He'd expected to have at least another decade or so.

Was he allowed to change his mind about wanting to stay dead for eternity?

Probably not.

"If there is anything else that you can tell me about that philosopher..." Yajirobe began, but he had to pause to avoid a flurry of attacks.

The oar of a row boat is longer than an average katana so Musashi had the better range. He could reach opponents without being reached by them. This was part of his strategy. His tone changed. _You're a samurai, aren't you? You've studied this philosopher for your whole life, then. He wrote your honor code. You probably know him better than I did. All I did was go fishing with him. He wouldn't duel me, he said that it would be a shame to destroy such a good fisherman._

"Great," Yajirobe resisted the impulse to curl up and die - again. "Wonderful. So I have to defeat someone that even YOU would have lost to..."

Musashi paused in mid-assault. _You have to fight the Tiger?_

"Eventually." Yajirobe sighed, using the pause to improve his stance. "I'm his apprentice."

_Oh... _Musashi seemed skeptical then changed his stance and resumed attacking. _I'll stop holding back, then._

**ooxoo**

**L**ets talk for a moment about Bulma Briefs and why she is almost never home. She is a genius. She gets bored easily. Her house is already full of the latest and greatest inventions. Bulma invented some of them. Her parents invented the others. Her parents do not get bored. They stay home. Bulma wanders off. She was the sole heir of Capsule Corporation, the worlds largest technical company but she had also become an unofficial employee of the telephone industry. Because more than anything else, she tended to build and repair phones.

Kuririn had noticed this. The phone at the Kame House was one of Bulmas creations. And he'd seen her build a working phone on Planet Namek - which was impressive, all things considered. Oh and she'd installed a phone, more recently, into Ox Kings castle. And... The Lookout did not have a phone.

Maybe it was overdue for one.

Puar had once suggested getting Bulma to become an apprentice with the idea of driving god insane. Kuririn was tweaking that plan. When he went back the apprenticeship, there were going to be some changes made to the Lookout. Which would ultimately either drive god insane or make Kami reconsider leaving. Maybe if the Lookout got an extreme makeover, the Guardian would want to stay.

Mister Popo was going to have to be defeated in order to make this possible, Kuririn knew. He wasn't too worried about that. He wondered if maybe he should be worried about that - but not for very long. There were too many other ideas filling his mind.

Kuririn was riding in an aircar. Yamucha was driving and not entirely comfortable with the plan. The bandit was moderately terrified that Bulma might still end up becoming the next guardian. If Yamucha hadn't been preoccupied with that risk... And if Kuririn had been on his own or traveling closer to the ground... Then they might have noticed a tiny shift in the energy of the planet. They didn't. Fatigue was a part of this, too. They had agreed to the plan two days ago. They'd gone to the area of the desert hideout and done a lot of sparring since then. It had been a necessary delay. Kuririn now had a better grasp on some of the new attacks that he'd invented last month. Which meant that he could launch them more quickly.

They went to Capsule Corporation first even though they both knew that Bulma was not there. They could detect that she was not there. There was no shortage of damaged and missing phones since the dark clouds. Bulma was out proving the scale of her genius to the world at large. If the phone systems were working at all then it was at least partly because of her.

She was a good person but not always deliberately. Bulma did great things for awful reasons sometimes.

Yamucha had ordered a spaceship. And Bulmas parents had taken over that project - they were the transportation experts. Capsule Corporation... The company had not always been called that. It had been a simple car dealership, once. Dr. Briefs and his wife, Mrs. Briefs, had invented the capsule just so that people wouldn't have to worry about finding parking spaces anymore. They had made a fortune and changed the whole world half by accident. Dr. Briefs could build anything yet he still preferred to build had lived here - on and off - for years without seeing them much, they spent a lot of time in their private labs.

Mrs. Briefs considered the main kitchen to be one of her private labs. She dabbled with chemistry more than the mechanical side of inventing. So while the bandit was making polite conversation about the need for heated seats in space vehicles... And Mrs. Briefs was kindly serving tea and cookies and trying to explain that actually, a cryogenic effect helped to preserve a person traveling long distances in space... Kuririn made an excuse to wander off. He had the speed to do some serious exploring. Because Bulma had invented a few other things as well. And they might be useful.

Yes, it was stealing. Kuririn was a retired monk. He felt bad about stealing. But stealing beat murder - theft was the lesser evil, that's what it came down to. Also he had already been forgiven by the bandit. Hey, if a monk could forgive other sorts of actions then a bandit could forgive stealing. Monks were still human. Mistakes happened. Tough situations happened. Humans needed some wiggle room to learn. Besides, he would probably have to admit to his crimes and owe Bulma some favors eventually but... Not right away. That was all.

He had to focus. He wasn't pausing to read anyones diary or leaf through old photo albumns... Okay, so maybe just one... _Wow. _Bulma had sure looked different as a kid... Gosh, this reminded him of Maron a little bit. She had looked an awful lot like Bulma and, it seemed possible, that had not been an accident. Someone could have cloned Bulma. Probably criminals. Even though Maron had seemed nice... Why is it that when time passes it becomes easier to forget all of a persons bad qualities? Kuririn missed her. He also missed Vegeta and Goku but not quite in the same way. He couldn't ask those guys to consider becoming a parent with him, if you get the drift. But Kuririn wanted help, still, if he was going to adopt and try to raise Shirley and... Maron was the only woman he'd dated. Recently. Okay, ever. So Kuririn wondered where Maron was at, now. He'd dated her but they hadn't talked about kids. They hadn't been that comfortable with each other and hadn't had any reason to speak on the subject of being parents during their dates. Would Maron like Shirley? Or vice versa? In order to even find out, Kuririn would have to locate Maron and apologize to Maron for telling her to leave and...

But with his luck, Maron would turn out to be a cousin or something. Which was not a good topic to dwell on.

He mentally kicked himself and decided to focus. Because, Kuririn put the photo albumn away, he was _mainly _just here to find the trap device. Though he would also take a dragonball radar, if he stumbled across one. And he'd seen both of these inventions before so he knew what he was looking for and...

The Capsule Corp mansion had way too many rooms to make this an easy task. And all of the Briefs seemed to prefer clutter to clean working spaces. Plus nearly every piece of furniture in the place had a drawer or shelf or hidden compartment. So even someone with Kuririns speed had to slow down to search. And he had to search without setting off security alarms or getting tackled by domestic robots that had no reason to recognize him.

Dr. Briefs had turned the interior of his home into a guarded maze. Yamucha, age sixteen, had lived here for a while due in part to being lost inside of the building. A person who had recently lived in wide open spaces did not adapt well to mazes. Kuririn, however, had been raised in Orinji Temple. Which had also been a maze. He dodged another robot and tried to remember the principles. If you assumed that the most important room was at the center of the maze... Kuririn blurred away.

He paused in a corridor. It was hard not to. There was a door here that was covered with signs like 'keep out' and 'trespassers will be shot' and also some posters of rock bands. Even just from the door... Kuririn had never had a room like this. You didn't personalize your space in a temple - that kind of defeated the point of seeking to be in harmony with the universe. And he hadn't exactly meant to end up residing at the Kame House for so long, so he'd refrained from adding too many personal touches. But if, as a teenager, he had ever been inclined to decorate... Kuririn opened the door.

And stared for a while.

And quietly closed the door.

And considered seeking professional counseling.

The room had been a whole lot more frilly and pink than he'd expected, overall. Did Bulma even still use it? Or had she just left all her childhood things in one place and taken over a different room? There were plenty of rooms in the mansion. And she was thirty. Maybe she'd just never gotten around to cleaning out her closets. Or her spare rooms.

It HAD to be Bulmas room. Or Bulmas old room. It was too disturbing to contemplate other options - which said that perhaps that had actually been her mothers room.

Which meant that the other doors in this hallway... Maybe. Kuririn investigated. And had success. In the third room down was an impromptu workshop. He found a dragonball radar but it didn't seem to be working. That was okay, for now. The artifacts probably hadn't been activated yet. He found some metal rings. Were these more trap devices? Kuririn really hoped so. And then he hit a snag. The trap device - there had been a remote control with that, hadn't there? This room was all but wallpapered in different remote controls. Which ones...? If he hit a button and it was the right one... That was not a good idea. Kuririn did not really want to accidentally trap himself here so he decided to just take all of the remotes and sort it out later. There was a spare capsule handy - how could there not be, in Capsule Corp? - so that's what he did.

Then he went to rescue Yamucha from a lecture on the benefits of being frozen solid while traveling in outer space.

Kuririn didn't pause to notice that a mansion full of semi-sensitive technology had failed to melt, explode or otherwise be affected by his abnormal amounts of energy. He wasn't aware that Bulmas parents had built a mansion that could withstand a direct lightening strike, among other things.

**ooxoo**

**R**anshin would have loved to have been frozen solid right about now. She was as close to unconscious as a ghost can get. This was not just because of the fact that the energy in the afterlife was kicking her brain halfway to oblivion but it was also because, being five, she had made a mistake. The samurai and the assassin had avoided this mistake. The adults had been blown up by the effects of three swords colliding and, while they had consented to this act, they had not had to inflict it upon themselves. Ranshin had also died in this way - but by her own doing - and one of the swords had struck her too deeply.

The masterwork blade. The Point of Being Sincere.

A part of her soul had been cut off. And then spit out again. Ranshin was not aware that she had essentially been purged or that her evil side had, under the influence of the swords collective magic, become a tiny dazed red cat. Ranshin was mostly just aware of the pain. Although... There were stories on Earth of people who wandered outside in the cold and got so cold that, before dying, they felt warm. Ranshin had found her pain threshold - and given what she'd already survived in her life, that was considerable - and had passed it. She had actually stopped feeling it some time ago. But even the memory of such intense pain continued to paralyze her.

She was aware, distantly, of someone carrying her. She was not aware that it was the ghost of Master Mutaito. She was barely aware of being a ghost herself.

With her evil side gone... The internal monster that so many people had wondered if she might become... The monster that any child with a third eye and no practice at closing the connection with the spirit world should become... Was gone. Her energy changed.

Ranshin dreamed.

But these were the dreams of a young child with purified third eye and enhanced psychic skills. There were some average dreams, blurs of nonsense and flashes of distorted memory but none of those lasted. The soul knew what it wanted to see. The afterlife took on the features of a landscape. The darkness seemed as solid as mountains, the clouds made the noises of a river, the stars opened like bright flowers.

Shugendo.

Who had invented this legendary art? The stories told of humans being taught self-defense by the plants and animals and... Who had taught the plants and animals?

To learn the forgotten attacks, you must prepare to seek the forgotten teacher.

In the depths of space, a strange flower opened. A five petal cherry blossom with a planet spinning in the center. The planet moves so fast that the creatures who live there forget that it is moving. The image blurs and is replaced. Humans liked to think their gods were human shaped.

The goddess was. And perhaps she had always been. Were humans done in her image or was it the other way around? Nobody could remember anymore.

A woman, asleep in space. Wearing a beautiful robe that gave the impression of flower petals. Her skin was every color of dirt and sand. She looked young but dressed in a style not commonly seen on Earth anymore, all formal and layered. She wore jewelery - bracelets and necklaces and decorative belts. Some of it was precious metals and polished stones but some of the materials came from other parts of nature - seashells and feathers, wooden beads and animal claws, spiderwebs and butterfly wings, leaves and fishscales. The goddess had long dark hair and delicate features. She snored. Her image faded from the dream.

Soaring above the Earth... Below... A vivid aerial vision of a city, its perimeter was in the shape of a flower, hidden among jagged mountains and hidden as well by its strange energy. The sight flashed though the dreamscape and faded. A new shape, broad shoulders...

"I am the Teacher you seek." said a grey rhinocerous. It was humanoid but only in the sense that it stood upright and wore plain brown clothes. A simple vest and pants, no buttons or zippers or pockets or decorations. In its plainness, the fighting uniform also expressed a level of faith. Despite a slightly masculine appearance the rhinocerous radiated a feminine energy. "I am Her Voice, She speaks through me. You will not reach me for many years. Be grateful. Study hard. Make sure that you are ready. Your path is set. Do not stray from it. The Balance awaits."

The image faded. Ranshin drifted into dreams of spirits singing to her through the darkness, she could hear the voices but not the words. The song was pleasant and the pain was numbing but she did not rest well.

**ooxoo**

**F**ourteen years ago...

Bulma, age sixteen, and half barefoot stands in the maze of her home. Her lucky socks! She can only find one of them! This is a crisis! Bulma has looked everywhere. In the closet, under the bed... She has found things that she had forgotten that she owned - clothes that she hadn't worn for ages, parts from toys that she had taken apart, books she'd never gotten around to reading, childish sketches for inventions, photos that she never wants anyone to see, homework that she did but lost without turning in... She's even looked in a few of the other rooms, beyond her own.

Down in the basement level laundry room, she does not find her lucky sock. She DOES find an orange marble. It has two little red stars on it.

_Where did that come from?_

She resists the impulse to make any comments about having always suspected that her parents had lost their marbles. Her approach is more scientific.

A few hours of research later, surrounded by open books and computer printouts, Bulma has some answers. The orange marble is supposively a magical artifact called a dragonball. As if any self-respecting scientist really believes in magic. As if a scientist, even a scientist who is currently wearing one lucky sock... Luck and magic weren't the same thing at all. No way. Bulma decided to prove it. All she had to do was find six other marbles which could be scattered out absolutely anywhere on Earth. So what if it sounded impossible? Was that a challenge fom the world at large? Bulma scoffed at such challenges! So. Find six more marbles and then maybe she could get a wish. Except that there was no such thing as magic. So there wouldn't be any wish. Ha. Science would win!

_A wish..._

It couldn't hurt to imagine what she might wish for, could it? No. Hrm. Maybe she should wish for new lucky socks? Nah. It had to be better than that. What about a room full of strawberries? She couldn't build strawberries and she wasn't much for gardening and they did taste so good with ice cream... Nah. She could buy a room full of strawberries, if she had to. But eating that many would probably make her sick. Hrm. Something else then...

What kind of thing should a wealthy genius of a sixteen year old girl wish for, that she couldn't buy or build... That she didn't already have... She was already beautiful and famous and...

Eh. Bulma shrugged to herself. It didn't matter. There was no such thing as magic. She'd just gather the artifacts once school holidays began. And if she happened to think of something credible to wish for, in case anyone asked why she wanted these objects then... Bulma was a genius. She would think of something. And then, when the attempt at getting a wish failed, she would have proven the world wrong about magic. Science would win!

Thus began an adventure that would, inadvertantly, prove the existence of magic and save the world. And Bulma hadn't even gotten a new pair of lucky socks. And she'd also never found out what had happened, to the missing one. And she still wasn't quite sure how a dragonball had ended up in her basement so conveniently, right before the school holidays. But by the end of the first short adventure, she would have too many other interesting things to think about to dwell on such subjects.

The local gods could not have asked Bulma to do this. They could not have told her or left her a note and then expected her cooperation. But let the blue haired girl think it was her own idea, sure. Why not? If it got things done, why not?

**ooxoo**

**N**ow...

The aircar was hovering in place. You couldn't really call it parked at this altitude. Kuririn could have flown up here but riding in a vehicle allowed him to approach while powered down. Yamucha had tried to explain and demonstrate the trick of flying without powering up for his friend but Kuririn had been more interested in working on his new attacks. So they had come by aircar to the area of Korins Tower.

As a peace offering to the bandit, they weren't going to collect Bulma until later.

They were parked at some distance but even from here it was easy to see the Tower and also...

The Lookout was gone. It wasn't here. It wasn't parked. The sky above Korins Tower was empty.

Kuririn eventually resurfaced from a perfectly healthly mental outburst of swearing. Yamucha appeared to do the same.

"They're orbiting." Yamucha was the first to speak. "Maybe if we wait here, we'll see it go by and..." He tried not to dwell on the fact that they could not detect the Lookout. It was almost definitely still around Earth somewhere but it was not a location that could be detected, unless someone strong was there. And Mister Popo was strong but he didn't often raise his power and the kids... Yamucha wasn't even a parent and he felt kind of worried. He'd trained at the Lookout before. Orbiting had been a challenge to adapt to. And these kids, from what he'd been told, only one of them could fly. If anybody fell... Would the gods allow that?

Korins Tower WAS here, though and that didn't improve matters because the energy made it clear that the immortal white cat was in residence and that the children were not with him. Korin raised his ki, as if inviting them down.

They went.

Kuririn flew, an orange comet of tense distrust. Yamucha was dreading this but shrugged, exited the aircar, turned the vehicle off, capsulized it and then followed. They had come to see the cat anyway, about settling the lawsuit but they'd expected to find him training his students and...

In the middle of an empty circular plaza, the cat waited. Korin watched them land and nodded a silent greeting and then just about froze them with five words - and this was not magic. "There has been an accident." The cat had never spoken so clearly. He radiated concern and mild embarrassment, he had the air of someone who had not been caught off guard in eight hundred or so years. "I apologize."

Yamucha could think clearly in emergencies. Kuririn was all but a block of ice, his energy had switched to dread as well now and he had the expression of someone who needed to know and didn't want to ask and was already imagining... "What happened?" The bandit said, still trying to get over the fact that the cat was not even trying to speak in riddles.

"Two of the children visited the Tower when I was not here. They intended to care for the Senzu. Before they left, they became thirsty..." Korin let the statement drift off for a moment. Then he shook himself and found his voice again, shades sadder. "They drank from the wrong barrel. It was not the rainwater. It was the super holy tea."

He didn't have to add: Remember? The tea that I keep up here for no apparent reason because it has killed almost every mortal who has taken a sip? Except for Goku. He took two sips and just about died anyway - but I let him drink it so that he could defeat Daimio. You guys barely survived tasting it but I let you all try because I knew that someday you'd be fighting Saiyans and worse. The tea that makes you feel as if you've swallowed razors? THAT tea?

And he also didn't add: Which, by the way, I drink on a regular basis and that's why I keep it up here. But I'm immortal so the effects are a little different for me. Incidentally, isn't my fur nice and glossy today?

Korin exhaled. "Those children live. Barely. For now. I did what I could with magic. Mister Popo will do what he can. Do not seek them, it will not help to have your anger projected in a place of healing. Stay. I will accept your challenge. However..." The cat twitched his whiskers. "Be careful of how you challenge me."

There was a pause. Kuririns aura was already visible. No one had mentioned Shirley by name but none of the other kids had flown - unless they'd all learned since he left - so if anyone had come down from the Lookout to the Tower... Shirley had to be one of the two that was near death right now. Which made Kuririn feel... Everything that he'd ever felt in battle, while watching a friend get hurt or threatened, all over again. Only worse. Because he hadn't even gotten to see this accident happen and so that left it to his imagination to fill in the gaps and... Really, Piccolo might not realize how lucky he was to not have very much imagination. It could be as much of a curse as a blessing. So as far as Kuririn was concerned... If Korin was taking challenges then he had better check his life insurance - and for all blinking nine of them.

But Yamucha was also here and that was proving to be a roadblock for violence because the bandit knew when things required caution. "You've already died twice... And fighting is not gonna make the kids better." He hissed to Kuririn. Then he looked down at the white cat. "Explain about the challenges. I don't like how you worded that. Also, how did you NOT see this coming? Aren't you able to...?"

Korin twitched his ears and seemed to relax a tiny bit. "Even I can be surprised, once in a while." He admitted, without mentioning that a certain witch had just gotten all of her powers back and owed him some mischief. They were sort of like rivals. "If you challenge me as an upset parent or concerned adult - which is fine - I can fight you in this form. However if you challenge me as an Apprentice to the Guardianship... Then because I am allowing you to bypass _my_ apprentice, I will be obliged to power up fully and you will not recognize me."

This had the echos of something that Freezia had spoken when explaining that he was a changeling, Kuririn realized. But he was feeling stubborn. "I have defeated you before."

"Yes and no." Korin replied.

Yamucha had never even heard Freezias speech - he'd not been alive or on the right planet to attend that battle, something he was glad of - but he was getting the gist of it and was backing away. Well. Trying to back away. Trying to drag Kuririn away. Kuririn was not moving.

"All of my mortal students, even Goku..." Korin explained, flattening his ears and twitching his tail. "During the training... Did you not notice?"

"Notice what?" Kuririn snapped, refusing to leave and scowling from the middle of an orange-white flame. He was too upset to calm down right away. He thought about the trap devices but mostly about the new attacks. He didn't need to figure out which remote control would activate any of his attacks, after all. "Tell us what we supposively missed and I'll tell you if we really missed it."

All of his students... Korin was a gifted teacher. He had given them only what they had needed, not what he was capable of. He'd known their futures. He'd known the future beyond their futures. Well. Parts of it. He had expected to outlive these mortals, that's what it came down to. Even if they lived into three digit ages, he might outlive them. They were good people and great warriors but they were mortal. Their time was limited. Korin was immortal and on top of that, he had nine lives. He had trained Goku for only three days. He'd not trained any of the other warriors for much longer than two weeks. Roshi had - ages ago - spent three years at the Tower but that had mostly been just to escape his sister. Two hundred years of age difference between brother and sister had not prevented a period of sibling rivalry. Roshi had needed sanctuary and besides, Mutaito had recommended the young man.

But... Three days? Two weeks? Even three years? To a creature more than eight hundred, that was hardly any time at all. Honestly, Korin had spent longer amounts of time playing with socks. He was the reason, in this world, that a pair of socks sometimes came out of a dryer with one half of the pair missing. Clothes dryers were his favorite modern invention. But the students were mortal and mortals were impatient. So after the simple training, he'd released them. Korin had known that he'd given them enough skill improvement to win and had also known that they might lose anyway. So why not let them go to enjoy life, while they had it? Mortals were young. They needed to have fun once in a while. They needed to bask in the peace while it lasted because if they did not experience the peace then why should they fight to restore it? And if the mortals did not care enough to fight to restore peace then why should any of the immortals? The gods did not exist to make decisions for humanity. All the immortals could do was try to influence the decisions.

The only notable exceptions to the short sparring sessions were Korins immortal students - who had more time to spare for proper training. And also the samurai, his current apprentice, who had taken up residence at the Tower eleven years ago. Yajirobe had sparred with Korin on a few levels that the other mortal students didn't know about and even the apprentice was - even right this minute, Korin knew - still learning. What kind of riddle master shows all their tricks at once? How many secrets could a creature accumulate in more than eight hundred years? How far past the cat instincts and tiger instincts were the ancient martial artists instincts?

Today was a day for the power of the truth.

"I have trained you all with my eyes closed." said Korin. "I am close to blind in this form. It does not impair me much. But challenge me, if you must and I will open my eyes to see if you are indeed worthy of becoming the next Guardian."

After a pause, the cat added. "Realize as well that there can not be two Guardians at once. Defeat me and I will try to support you but you will still have to defeat Kami, unless he retires or dies. And you can expect for Mister Popo to take his side. Shenlong will also defend him."

Kuririn was shocked enough by these prospects to allow his aura to evaporate. This, he was suddenly remembering, was the training that Goku had turned down.

Yamucha seized the moment and, more importantly, his friend. "Don't call us. We'll call you." The bandit swiftly departed.

_Why does it matter who their relatives are? _Korin wondered as he watched them go. _They treat each other like family, even without blood ties._

**ooxoo**

**M**afuba... The ghost of Master Mutaito yawned. He was tired. _Still_ tired. The reasons for this had, for the benefit of another ghost, only recently been explained.

Tenshinhan still did not want to believe what he'd been told. He had studied the Mafuba and learned the attack and so how could he have never realized that...

Mafuba was, truly, an Evil Seal. Master Mutaitos soul had only been in the afterlife for the past eleven years. He'd died three hundred years ago. He'd given his soul for the Seal and... Because the attack had worked, he had been instantly spirit-bound to the denshi jar. Mutaito WAS the magic that had prevented Daimio from escaping. For every single day. Underwater. For nearly three hundred years.

That was a long time, to have to fight. Even for someone who was already legendary. Mutaito had survived with help from his wife - who had lied, as per his instructions, to prevent the Guardian from understanding the depth of the sacrifice. Well. No. The witch hadn't _exactly_ lied. She'd just avoided telling the whole truth. Korin had figured it out and had also helped. When he had been able to. But every day and night for three hundred years, Mutaito had not taken a break. He'd been fighting the demon. Except, Mutaito had known, it wasn't a demon. Daimio was an evil side. An evil side was a piece of the whole. Mutaito was the apprentice - and also a friend - to the Guardian. As such, Mutaito had felt that it was his duty to try and ensure that the Guardian was whole. If Daimio could be purged from Kami then... There had to be a way to reverse the process, sort of. To defeat the evilness and return the energy... So that Kami would not only be whole but still be purified.

Duty-bound and curious, Mutaito had accepted this as a challenge to his own skills. Why should he have sent anyone else? He was the legend, he was the teacher. This would be an experiment and a good test. So he had refused to teach anyone else the Mafuba. And then he had used it. Against Daimio. Mutaito had entered the fight willingly and had remained there, even after his physical death. For three hundred years Mutaito had searched for a way to purify an evil side. His efforts had probably only made the demon itself stronger - Daimio had essentially gotten three centuries of training - but... Due to the spirit-bond, that training had made Kami stronger as well. And...

The final child of the demon, Mutaito felt, had been reached.

His wife had helped.

The last child of the demon... Born with such power... In the World Palace. After the World Emperor was dead, along with so many others. And after the defending warriors were exhausted. Why had the child of the demon not immediately attacked? Why had the child not avenged his father on the same battlefield where the demons corpse rested? All the other children of the demon had attacked as soon as they'd hatched. But not this one. Because even before Kami had reached that child and taken him to an afterlife dentist... Someone else had reached the kid.

A ghost. A witch. And the soul of a planet who, without being remotely conscious, had sort of gotten involved by accident. So many times the scene had been replayed. The child called Piccolo had - and while believing this to be entirely his own choice - gone off to spend time in nature. Repeatedly. Instead of conquering the world. Or even really trying to conquer the world. The green warrior had threatened to conquer the world but had also, more often, fought to defend it. And had even trained someone else to defend it. This was not the behavior of a demon.

And that was the kind of victory that made a struggle three hundred years long worth it, in Master Mutaitos opinion.

Three hundred years... And then some little blue creature had found the denshi jar and opened it, breaking the Seal. Releasing both the demon _and_ the ghost that had contained him. And the three hundred years of training had made Mutaito stronger, as well.

Master Mutaito was aware of Lord Pilaf. He regarded the blue midget with pointy ears as being some kind of relation to Garlic, though. They had to be the same species, at least. Had other residents of Garlics doomed native planet made it to Earth thousands of years ago? It didn't seem unlikely. How strange. Perhaps in some way Pilaf was everything that Garlic should have become, if only Garlic had not been a skilled warrior. And Garlic Junior... Well. Tired though he was, Mutaito had reserved the right to challenge that ghost. He had not approved of Garlic Juniors variation on the Mafuba.

Kikouhou was an entirely different thing, though. Kikouhou had been constructed with respect.

"Thank you. I'm glad that I got to see that." Master Mutaito yawned, remembering how the attack had looked. It made him proud to think that he had inspired such techniques. He was amazed that so many warriors had studied and learned the technique that he'd refused to teach anyone, while alive.

Mutaito had volunteered to be here but he did also owe his wife some favors. She'd put up with a lot by supporting the experiment. The witch had agreed to a bargain and reduced her own power, just to protect the denshi jar and defend her pioneering husband.

The child of the demon... Master Mutaito could hardly have grinned more. He'd been haunting the kid, on and off, for the past eleven years. Not for the whole time. Master Mutaito had needed some rest - he still needed some rest - so he had spent a while in the afterlife. But he'd witnessed certain moments. And less than a year ago, the young green warrior had chosen to remain on Earth instead of going off to become a resident of another planet full of creatures who looked the same as he did. On some level, that child knew he was not the same. But Piccolo Junior might not have any conscious idea of just how different he was. The child had an aunt. Well. Not exactly an aunt. The goddess had many titles but at least half of those titles included the word Mother. Earth Mother, Mother Nature - those were among the best known. If Kami had a claim to fatherhood... Piccolo remaining on Earth had been, in Mutaitos eyes, like a child hiding behind their mothers ankles.

So. Yea. Turning the child of an evil incarnation into a mammas boy was, Mutaito felt, his personal best work. And this was why he could not stop grinning, between yawns.

Who says legends have to be without a sense of humor? Master Mutaito had married a witch. He'd trained her little brother, Roshi. He had played cards and debated philosophy with Korin once in a while. He'd trained and defeated and traveled with and learned from and been a parent to all sorts of people. He had given lectures to anyone who would listen, including his relatives. Their home had always been full of children and animals and ghosts and people wanting to know about the future and people wanting to know about martial arts and assassins... Money had never been a worry. Neither had security. Boredom hadn't existed. They'd all been so busy being happy.

In life Mutaito had been a man with short white hair, a wide mustache and a perpetually amused expression. Being a ghost hadn't changed him that much. Nor had it affected his relationship. His wife was both a witch and an accurate psychic. She had always been able to communicate with spirits and had never truly taken her wedding ring off. Her ring was just invisible now. Master Mutaito still had his ring as well and currently the simple metal band was not quite as ghostly as the rest of him. Love was perhaps eternal, in their case. They had celebrated so many hundreds of anniversaries together that Mutaito wasn't entirely sure which one was approaching.

Even his parenting skills seemed to be intact.

Master Mutaito liked the idea of triclops. There hadn't been any of those, while he was alive. Not that he'd met. Not that he could remember. He'd definitely remember. He probably would have invited them over for dinner and cards and philosophical debates. Well. Maybe not over to the house, though. It was generally not a good idea to put creatures with extra spiritual perceptions into the same area as his wife and her entourage of ghost assistants.

Which meant that no triclops was descended from the Mutaito clan, by the way.

And it also meant that being in the same room as two of them was exciting. Master Mutaito was a good parent and a good person. He would have held and protected any injured child spirit but... He had waited for centuries, for the chance to carry Ranshin. He was an ancient legendary warrior. But he had the energy of a little kid in an exotic zoo who has just been told that yes, they may pet the mythical animals that they had never even gotten to see before.

Tenshinhan was STILL not at all sure how to react to this. Being hugged by the soul of an Empire was one thing - and a fairly strange thing, all by itself - but having been hugged by a deceased legend... Who was also carrying a small triclops as if she were at least part plush animal... Honestly, at this rate, Tenshinhan was half excepting for Tao to come back and hug him as well. And that would be only slightly more disturbing.

On a more serious level, the goal of any dedicated warrior is to constantly seek to improve. For Tenshinhan, once he'd recovered from shock, this had meant provoking a few conversations and getting some more ideas for new attacks to develop. Which was odd, Tenshinhan realized, because even though his interest in attacks had always been there and so it had seemed like a natural subject... He had decided to stay dead and so he didn't have any reason to... He wasn't even going to need the attacks that he already knew anymore so why should he...

For Master Mutaito, seeking improvement meant trying to do better than his last best work. And this time, it hadn't taken him three hundred years.

During his life Master Mutaito had made a respectable income - not next to what his wife had made from fortune telling but an income above average, for a professional warrior - from giving lectures. So he knew how to steer conversations. He'd learned to debate. How to calmly explain his arguments so that they sounded like sensible suggestions. How to plant the seeds of doubt into an opponents mind. So he had another reason to be grinning. There was power in repetition. You only had to say: "Gosh, what a wonderful idea for an attack. What a shame that you'll never get to actually use it. I _suppose_ that someone else will just come along and take all the credit, eventually. I wonder if they'll have anywhere near your skill." so many times before a competitive person began to think those kinds of thoughts on their own.

And Master Mutaito had been steering the conversation for nearly one day. He'd been nonchalantly giving a professional killer, who had been raised to respect and value the need for death, a reason to value life.

Meiji had visited them for a while and had, after cheerfully curing a bewildered ghost of his scars via several more hugs, helped. She was the soul of an Empire. Hence Meiji knew about politics and debate. And she had known, as well, where to aim in this kind of combat. "Oh, so the little girl has been purged? Hrm. I wonder if her evil side appeared by my dear ex-husband... But I'm sure that he'll be fine, right? He's probably around all kinds of people who can help. Even a former Emperor knows to avoid isolation, right? Well, I'll just be going now..."

It had been all that Master Mutaito could do not to applaud Meijis performance.

And even if the assassin chose to be stubborn and resist all their suggestions... While it was true that the dragonballs could not reincarnate someone who was choosing to stay dead... Master Mutaito was older than the dragonballs. He knew of other artifacts. Of course he knew. Roshi, his student, had assembled an impressive collection of ancient magical artifacts. But Roshi had been acting in self-defense when he'd assembled that collection. Because the witch - Roshis elder sister, Mutaitos wife - worked for the goddess and the goddess made the best artifacts.

You only had to ask her to borrow them. You only had to know her name in order to ask her.

You only had to be able to get her attention. Which was a process of trial and error, in most cases. The goddess was...special. Demi-mortal. Something like that. Most natural disasters were complete accidents. She was a bit of an artist. She sometimes got absorbed in her own private projects. The goddess would be off painting a new design on butterfly wings or some such creature and... During the Ice Age, she'd been playing with new kinds of rocks. The Guardian at that time had eventually nudged the soul of the planet and pointed out that while the rocks were very good, rather a lot of creatures were freezing to death so please be more careful. The goddess had been delighted to notice the glaciers and had taken up ice sculpture which had gradually undone most of the damage.

Earth was maybe around four billion years old but that was young, apparently, for a planet. The planet might be, in purely galactic terms, an underaged parent. She was innocent.

Her innocence was what made life on Earth possible.

Yet the goddess was intelligent, without a doubt. Just... Humans did not share her interests, most of the time. Humans often wanted to talk about man-made things - technology and fashion and popular culture and so forth. Meanwhile the goddess wanted to talk about natural things since that was her version of: 'look at what I can do!' This was why the goddess had always needed some extra help, to try to understand and communicate with humanity. And the witch was only one of the translators. It was not a one person job. There was a whole hidden city of fellow mortals who shared the mission. Anymore it had to be mortals that made the connections. Immortals were often confused by humanity as well and besides, if the mortals didn't care to explain themselves then why should the gods bother?

But they had to be exceptionally careful, these mortals, with what they told the goddess. Because ki was related to mood. The soul of a planet... If she ever got truly angry or sad or offended or frightened... Her energy would flow differently. And her energy was the life support of every creature residing on the planet. And there were already plenty of large empty boulders with bad energy drifting in wide circles in outer space.

Master Mutaito was aware of the goddesses name. But he wasn't supposed to tell. So he wasn't telling. If he could steer another soul into realizing it, though. Well. That was fair, wasn't it?

He couldn't help with the attention span part at all though. The warriors would just have to figure that out on their own, if the goddess woke up in their lifetimes. She had to wake up eventually if the natural balance was ever going to be restored. Or would it take restoring the balance to wake her, actually? Mutaito wasn't sure. And he couldn't remember much about the hidden city. It was one of those locations that protected itself with magic, you weren't allowed to remember it or find it. If you were meant to go to the hidden city, the hidden city found you.

And Master Mutaito did also, of course, know his wifes name. He knew a lot of things about his wife. He could remember how they'd first met. He could remember what she'd looked like, back then. He couldn't think of her as Madame Uranai Baba because that was like thinking Madame Old Fortuneteller. It wasn't her name. And he didn't think of her as old, she was a little younger than him. He still thought of her as beautiful. But he wasn't supposed to tell anyone her real name, either. So he wasn't telling.

He could remember all the training they had done together...

Shugendo.

The goddess had invented the art of using the soul for self-defense. Ages ago. By accident. She'd never taken a student. She never would. The goddess was too innocent to consider herself a warrior, much less a legendary master and the literal mother of all martial arts. She had never fought anyone. She'd rather paint tropical fish or colorful beetles. Even though life on Earth had never truly been peaceful... The Earth itself, to some degree, had been. And was. And would hopefully continue to be. Fighting was an alien concept to the goddess and also a boring one. Combat couldn't hold her interest. She'd ended mortal wars just so that she could work on new kinds of leaf patterns. She had her own priorities.

But her exercises had inspired the plants and animals, who had developed and refined their own styles. The plants and animals had eventually taught the humans, who'd made further alterations. Master Mutaito and his wife had studied the original marital art together. They were both shugendo masters but...

Shugendo. The first five techniques of the sacred art were flying, energy shield, telekinesis, body distortion and teleport. The sixth technique was largely forgotten, it had been left out of most historical records. The three attacks... Master Mutaito knew of them and knew as well why they'd been allowed to be forgotten. The attacks were difficult to learn and two of them were fairly impractical for anyone who was not the soul of a planet to use. His wife had learned only one of those attacks - something called Noushiken, Your Brain Dies Now. Mutaito had developed the Mafuba instead of learning any of the shugendo attacks.

... The sixth technique... Why had that been forgotten? Perhaps the gods had just let this oversight happen. There were probably reasons but Master Mutaito did not know what they were. He could remember the final technique, he'd had to learn it in order to survive practicing the Mafuba. And he was allowed to pass this much on. His wife had told him about some of the future.

The sixth and last shugendo technique.

Healing.

Mutaito planted the knowledge of the skill into Ranshins brain, on a subconscious level. It might take a while to surface and grow but... This poor kid would really need it someday and possibly sooner than later.

"You know what this is, don't you?" Master Mutaito added casually, indicating Ranshin.

Tenshinhan resisted the obvious answer which was: "It's a small triclops and yes, even if I wasn't also a triclops then I might have noticed that. So why do you even need to ask?" and remained silent. He'd already done more talking in the afterlife than he could have ever expected to. In fact this was the most conversation Tenshinhan could remember ever having all at once. He was far more accustomed to keeping quiet, being alert, listening... But when a respected legend asks to be shown all your attacks... And especially when that legendary person inspired the centerpiece of those attacks... Tenshinhan had complied. Between being hugged and talked to and having given the demonstration, he was beyond weirded out and also a bit drained.

He had privately decided to never ever attempt to use the Mafuba again. Tenshinhan didn't want to end up spirit-bound to any denshi jar.

And he was starting to worry that Chaozu might not have been prepared for the evil incarnation of the little girl. Because Chaozu didn't get to see his own future - Meiji was evidence of that.

And he was absolutely not going to linger of the concept of Piccolo being, as Mutaito had happily explained earlier, a mammas boy. Weirdness aside, it was just too funny. Professional assassins were not supposed to laugh much. Because laughing meant letting your guard down. And that, for a hired killer, was not usually wise.

The concept of the goddess was also beyond being dwelled on. Nature was supposed to be the ultimate assassin. Not an absentminded artist. Although, that would explain a few things...

And he had rather a lot of ideas for new attacks and why should anyone else be allowed to take the credit? What if the other warriors didn't get the details right? Tenshinhan had endured a ridiculous amount of dangerous training and for what? To be the World Champion, once and by accident? That was not a great way to be remembered. Tenshinhan hated to admit it but the concept of eternal rest had lost some appeal due to his own competitive streak. He'd died without thinking of how anyone would remember him because he hadn't really expected that anyone would remember him for very long. Tenshinhan had contributed to many battles without ultimately being the winner of them. What was so memorable about that?

Ranshin had been created by the Red Ribbon Army. She'd been born from a test tube and made to fight against android prototypes. She had been trained by the Crane Master, without learning the full extent to which he had planned to use her for revenge. She'd been trained by Sensei Jitsugen who had dreamed of shaping her into a responsible legend, a hero that respected her power. She had been trained by her own genetic siblings, especially Shirley, who had wanted to find a different definition of power to rely on. She'd been trained by Android Nine, who had taught her to appreciate math and the idea that every problem had more than one answer. She had been trained by the Earths defenders, if only by detecting their energies and reading their minds. Gohans memories had shown her the struggles of battle. Kuririns aura had taught her to percieve another creatures heart beat. The green warrior and the bandit had each provoked her, in their own way, to defend herself. The ghosts had taught her a wide range of things but perhaps the most important was telekinesis. Chaozu had finally gotten her into the habit of shielding her own mind a little better. But... These were just small steps on a long journey. There was only one destination.

"The wish of every professional assassin is to restore the natural balance of the world." Master Mutaito observed, knowing that he had already won this debate. "This child represents one of the best opportunities to grant that wish." Mutaito smiled. "You do not have to like her or raise her or even speak to her. But her skills require more time to develop. Will you not return to life and help defend the world in order to buy her that time?"

After some thought Tenshinhan sighed and said. "I think I'd better find a samurai first. We might need to save a Guardian, as well."

**ooxoo**

**T**he Red Ribbon Army had been a criminal organization for over two hundred years. Which meant that the members of the Red Ribbon Army - several deceased soldiers excluded - were intelligent enough to be subtle. It also meant that Red Ribbon had, over time, had plenty of opportunities to set up legitimate businesses to help fund their operations. Order a pizza. Buy a car. Drop the kids off at an arcade. Take a stray dinosaur to a local humane society...

"What do you mean, robbed?" said an irritated Red Ribbon Agent who thought this was some kind of joke. No one would really be so stupid as to commit petty theft against the largest criminal organization on the planet, would they? Nobody would truly rob an animal shelter, right?

The unfortunate employee of the animal shelter tried to convince the agent that this was indeed what had happened. They had the security camera footage to prove it. A lady with dark hair, a grey trenchcoat and some bandaged fingers had walked in with a gun and politely but firmly demanded the release of all of the animals. She had also commanded the staff to load her car with all the chemicals. The staff at the shelter had given her everything. Even a bowl of goldfish. A small blue skinned creature with pointy ears that dressed like a toddler had come in and watched, the gunslinger seemed to treat him as the boss. They'd also had a dog dressed in a ninja outfit waiting outside by a getaway car - but the apparent leader had actually left riding on the back of a stray dinosaur.

The employees of the animal shelter had, understandably, not wanted to make this report right away.

The Red Ribbon Agent privately shared their feelings. Then the agent pulled the security camera footage, saw the story described above unravel in slow motion and reluctantly considered what to do about it.

Dr. Gero was the Commander of Red Ribbon. On the one hand, why bother the Commander with such trivial details of the global business when he had other important projects that needed his attention? On the other hand, what if this turned out to be important? Not reporting it could also be a bad thing. But the best plan, of course, would be to report the incident and then be able to add that the problem had already been taken care of.

And despite the delay in getting the report made, the dinosaur had left a trail of footprints embedded into the road. So the trail could still be followed. And any thieves with a stray dinosaur were going to be noticable - they'd have nowhere to hide. It shouldn't take too long to track these people down and teach them some lessons.

The Red Ribbon Agent called a special meeting of local operatives. There were a lot of them.

Strangely enough... By beating up other criminals, Red Ribbon had cut the world crime rate. Outlaws had found it easier to join the feared global organization than risk offending Red Ribbon. For over two hundred years.

**ooxoo**


	40. Philosophy: December 9th, 763 AD

_**Eclipse**_

**by DoraMouse**

**ooxoo**

**Philosophy: December 9th, 763 A.D.**

**R**ecess aboard a pirate ship was not so different from regular schools, as far as ChiChi knew. She had never actually been to a regular school. She'd studied in other places. But she imagined a regular school to be this way.

The kids all had their friends and rivals, most of them would bunch up into small groups and wander around the ships deck talking or having knife duels. Irene supervised all of the duels to make sure that proper knife tactics were used. The children also sometimes held knot-tying competitions or played cards or harassed the parrots or tried to climb on things that they really shouldn't. The crew had needed to rescue a few of the kids from being tangled in the sails. The children who didn't heed such warnings about not climbing the mast without adult supervision were assigned to scrub the deck - it was the closest thing to detention that the pirate ship could offer. The crew was not about to force their own mildly rebelious offspring to walk the plank and kitchen duty, on this ship, was not considered a punishment. At sea, meals were a luxury. This crew was blessed with some excellent and resourceful chefs but even so... Certain foods were rationed on long trips because grocery stores in the middle of the ocean were not abundant. Also while the ocean was indeed a great provider, it was not a place to find a loaf of bread. Thus some of the more practical kids would go fishing during recess since that was about the only way to get an extra snack.

And then there was Master Roshi, who was attempting to waterski again.

ChiChi had been a Captain for six years, between the ages of thirteen and nineteen. No one had ever tried to waterski behind her ship during that time. So she wasn't quite sure that she approved of the behavior. The children did, they were cheering from the back of the boat. The crew did, they were placing bets on how long Roshi could remain upright or whether he would be eaten by a shark.

Being slapped by a dolphin had not been on the list of bets that the pirates were taking.

But it had happened.

And now there were dolphins _everywhere_. The creatures were swarming around the boat, doing somersaults over the boat and squeaking. Pirates and parrots were arguing about the translation. They had a humanoid rat, a humanoid pengiun, a half-walrus, a shapeshifting pig and a self-proclaimed peg-legged travel expert on board but apparently no one spoke fluent dolphin. They had tried to consult a small crocodile in a purse but it had just grinned at them.

They had even tried to consult the dog. It was a golden retriever. A pirate had bought it while under the impression that this dog would, in fact, be able to locate gold. The dog had apologized for this misunderstanding and had been with the crew ever since. It was perhaps the only talking dog in the world that had ever learned to use a metal detector. But it didn't speak dolphin, either.

ChiChi, twenty-six, resisted the impulse to sigh. She was the Captain again. She'd forgotten how much patience the position required. All the fighting on her previous adventures had been good training for the 23rd Tenkaichi Budoukai but all the rest of the adventure... The dealing with people and making decisions and enforcing the rules and planning and keeping the boat stocked with supplies and... That had been good training for parenthood. ChiChi was a little surprised at how easily it had all come back to her. If only she could remember some of the aquatic languages. But she had only ever known a few phrases and hadn't had any reason to practice speaking dolphin around her house. Because her house was by a forested mountain range, not by an ocean. And she'd gone into isolation there.

Five years. ChiChi nearly wanted to kick herself. Her husband hadn't known her well enough to realize that she was not typically the sort to go into isolation. Her newborn son hadn't realized either. They'd had a happy family life together and... ChiChi knew that she'd been lying to herself about that for a long time. She loved her family and yes, they'd had some good and valuable moments that she wouldn't trade for anything but.. Overall, she had been miserable. The wedding had not been what she'd hoped for. ChiChi had always imagined her own friends in attendance, for a start. Her crew. She'd even considered honeymooning on the ship. Her original plans had been so different, from what had actually happened. She had spent those five years not merely adapting but grieving. She'd lost some friends at the 23rd World Tournament and had parted ways from her ship and crew after that tournament. Even Gokus friends, who had attended the wedding reception, had not called or come to visit. Much as she loved her family... ChiChi had missed her extended family.

Especially since... Ox King, her father, had avoided her during most of the pregnancy. He'd lost his wife - ChiChis mother - during childbirth. Her birth. So when finding out that he would be a grandfather... Instead of being overjoyed... Ox King had been afraid of losing his daughter. Goku hadn't known what to make of the situation either since he'd never met his own parents and barely had any idea what the word pregnancy really meant. The only person around to ask had been his father-in-law and so... Goku had listened to Ox King and had gone through a phase of expecting for her to die as well. Thus Gohans birth had been kept a secret - even for the years immediately afterwards - not because anyone was ashamed of Gohan but because ChiChis own family had been expecting her to die. Rather than spread the news and have visitors over... They'd been somberly waiting to find her corpse. This wasn't a subject that ChiChi cared to linger on but the situation had affected her self-esteem and mostly in negative ways. Everyone had treated her like she was so fragile. Inside that house, she was just a wife and a daughter. A cook and a maid. Not a world-class warrior and retired pirate captain.

If she hadn't had Gohan to be protective of and Irene to write to, ChiChi might have completely forgotten her own strength.

At the time, she'd tried to rationalize that this was a normal part of being in love. That being married required a person to change who they were and forget what they had been and... And now that ChiChi was on a pirate ship again, she could look back and wonder. Had her husband truly loved her? Or had he only been so nice to her because he'd been surprised that she was still alive?

ChiChi was pretty sure that love was still the answer - she'd never known Goku to be insincere - but a seed of doubt had begun to take root in her soul.

Even if Goku was somehow alive and well and came back to Earth someday... ChiChi did not know if she could return to being the isolated housewife. Goku was the love of her life. Gohan was her pride and joy. But her husband, her son... They were both determined to be heros and heros always left home. The emotional damage that ChiChi could do to herself, if she lived in isolation... It wasn't healthy. She was her own worst enemy, sometimes.

It was easier to deal with a pirate ship full of hearty arguments and a swarm of dolphins. At least here, she was not labeled as fragile. At least here, she was needed.

Gohan was trying to speak to the dolphins in that demon language, Namekian. This didn't seem to make a difference. Roshi, the Turtle Master, had finally been pulled out of the water and was grumpily drying off.

"Did you try speaking Turtle to them?" ChiChi asked. "Or is that why they slapped you in the first place?"

Master Roshi frowned and peered reproachfully at her over the rims of his cracked dark sunglasses. His face carried the red imprint of a dolphin tail. "I am not such a pervert that I've ever flirted with other species..." He began. But was cut off by a sight in the water that promptly gave him a nosebleed.

"Lovely." ChiChi grumbled and then, in motherly tones. "You're going to clean that up, you know."

"MERMAID, AHOY!" Shouted a pirate keeping watch from above the sails.

"NO KIDDING!" Came the reply from the crew as a whole.

"Uhm. Hi?" Said the mermaid. On the one hand, she was a half naked lady. On the other hand, she was only half lady. "Excuse me? Is there anyone on that boat called Roshi?"

"I swear, I've never..." The old master protested while struggling to contain his nosebleed and blushing under the collective disapproving stare from the entire adult pirate crew.

Oolong was blushing with envy. "Why don't half naked ladies ever ask for ME?"

"You're a pig." said Irene.

"But I can CHANGE." said Oolong, while handing Roshi a bath towel to use as a hankerchief.

"Not mentally." Irene observed.

Oolong chose not to respond to this.

ChiChi leaned over the rails. "I realize that clothes are not practical for half-fish to swim around in." She began in diplomatic tones. "But we've got children on board. Would you please...cover up a bit?"

The mermaid scowled at the request.

"We've also got a legendary pervert on board." ChiChi added. "And a pig that probably wouldn't mind being sacrificed to the creatures of the deep, as long as you're doing the sacrificing."

"Oh, all right." grumbled the mermaid, she pulled a dolphin in front of her chest and leaned on it. "Better?"

The rest of the dolphins were now working as group and shoving the boat in a different direction. The Axis creaked and splashed in the living tide.

"Much. Did you have a message for us?" ChiChi looked down, she'd never seen wild animals behave this way but the dolphins message didn't require a translator anymore. "Aside from change direction?"

"I have a message for someone named Roshi." Said the mermaid, she was young. "Is that you?"

"No. I am not Roshi. He is here, though. But he's got a nosebleed. I'll take the message." ChiChi insisted, with a sideways scowl that just dared anyone to protest. Her crew showed silent support for this. Master Roshi fumed a bit which helped him dry off and get a grip on the nosebleed.

"Oh. I suppose that's okay..." The mermaid was carried alongside the ship by the dolphin she was leaning on as she spoke. "There's this really polite sea turtle, he's got half the ocean looking for you and he says that you need to be very careful."

"We generally are." ChiChi replied automatically but she was glaring at Roshi in an expectant way.

"Umigame..." said Master Roshi, answering the implied questions. His mustache and long beard were slightly pink now - he hated the nosebleeds for this reason. "He _would_ try to slow us down."

"The turtle?" Oolong felt a twinge of caution. He'd been a resident of Kame Island for long enough to know that Umigame didn't often meddle in the affairs of the others. The turtle was polite and calm and did not approve of most of Master Roshis old habits but... Umigame found ways to excuse the behaviors. The turtle didn't actually try to prevent the behaviors, not that Oolong had ever witnessed. And Umigame certainly hadn't ever sent half the ocean out to deliver a message.

"Was that the entire message?" ChiChi asked the mermaid but her eyes were still locked on the martial arts master. "The turtle didn't say why we needed to be careful or anything?"

"I don't detect anything bad..." Gohan added, having followed the conversation. Being six, he was not tall enough to see what the fuss was about. He stood next to his mother and understood that she was talking to a creature down in the water but didn't feel like hovering to take a look. Most of the other children were - because they were pirate children - pretending not to be surprised or impressed. They didn't want anyone to think they'd never seen a mermaid before. If any of them had taken a more active interest in the sight then Gohan might have been more interested. But his peers were acting bored, so Gohan assumed that mermaids were boring. He'd seen them in books a few times, anyway.

The mermaid scoffed. "Yes. That's the entire message. Don't you know where you were going?"

"Yes. We do." ChiChi stepped away from the rails but her expression had changed. She had helped plot the course. She'd taken shifts steering. She was the Captain. She hadn't been certain, four days ago, that the place that Master Roshi had given them directions to really existed. She had heard stories about the place before but she'd never had directions to it. She and her entire crew... This was better than gold, to a pirate. If a random mermaid and a swarm of dolphins thought they could stop her... No. ChiChi looked at her crew and saw her determination reflected in them. "And we're still going there."

The crew went to work. Sails were unfurled and moved to catch the wind. Orders were shouted. Dolphins were calmly threatened in multiple languages - but not their own language.

"Your boat will never survive the trip!" The mermaid shouted to be heard, as The Axis creaked back onto the path it had been following before the dolphins had diverted it. "Hey! I thought you said there were kids on board!"

ChiChi went to supervise the navigation, which involved knocking out their one-eyed walking atlas so that they could take a better look at his geographic tattoos. Irene and some of the crew continued to threaten the now confused dolphins. Master Roshi went below deck to wash the blood out of his mustache and beard and then repair his sunglasses. The adults were all busy, most of the crew was swinging from the ropes between the sails and adjusting the speed of the ship. The children decided, after a few moments, that this counted as a recess. It didn't take five minutes for a card game to break out - along with a casual discussion of how boring and ordinary mermaids were because of course, they'd all seen them before.

"Uhm..." Oolong hated to feel like the cautious one. He went to tug on the arm of the demi-saiyan. "Are you really as strong as everybody says?"

Gohan turned away from watching the card game for long enough to consider this. "I don't know." He eventually shrugged. He had some ideas on the subject but was not interested in it at the moment. "How strong does everyone say I am?"

Oolong could detect energy. And he knew what the other warriors called Gohan, they said the kid was the strongest creature on the planet. And Oolong trusted the other warriors but... It was just kind of hard to believe. Oolong had been aboard the pirate ship for four days. He'd hidden from the demi-saiyan at first but... The kid looked normal and acted normal and... His father never had, not from what Oolong had seen. Gohan was even attending school. Granted, it was a school on a pirate ship but it was still a school. The boy would read books and tie decorative knots and play cards and go fishing and... It was hard to be afraid of the kid, after you'd seen him get tangled in a hammock once or twice. And he wasn't just keeping company with aliens or warriors, no. Gohan was hanging out with...well...pirates might not count as average citizens but... How could such a dangerous warrior be so ordinary? Or was that part of what made him so dangerous?

"Nevermind." Oolong decided.

**ooxoo**

**K**orins Tower was to the West and it was also, currently, wreathed in dark thunderstorms that blossomed outward. From the witchs oasis to the south up past West Capital City and still further north, to the mountains... The clouds were unbroken. The weather was dark and dismal. Even the wind seemed ominous. Efforts to rebuild had been postponed. People were staying indoors and making do with what scattered shelters they had.

It wasn't good flying weather, either.

Kuririn had risked it anyway. He was determined to find the Lookout. He'd expected to be able to get above the clouds. He hadn't managed it yet.

When searching for strong warriors, he could rely on energy. When searching for the Lookout, he had to rely on eyesight because nobody at the Lookout was being detectable. And so the clouds... Flying up to that altitude was not a problem but... Once inside the cloud layer, visibility was down to nothing and the temperature dropped. The wind was always changing direction, the clouds swirled, there was rain and snow and hail and flashes of lightening and earsplitting thunder... Without a horizon or a landmark or a solid point to navigate by... It was disorienting. Kuririn had gotten turned around. Even with his aura to add some light to the darkness and keep him from getting frostbite, even with all the training he'd done to improve his endurance and his ability to breathe in places where there wasn't as much air... Kuririn kept getting lost. He would enter the storm system and end up flying the length of the continent and nearly crashing into a mountainside before landing.

He hadn't taken many breaks.

This was a matter of pride. The Lookout was an entire island. Even if the place wasn't easily detectable... It shouldn't be so easy, to conceal an entire island. And there were kids there and at least two of those kids had been hurt. And Kuririn didn't even want to imagine what kind of state those kids might be in by now. Korin raised Senzu and knew magic but if his magic alone hadn't been enough to heal those kids... And Mister Popo might have access, thanks to his unique gardening skills and the Lookouts magical fields, to plants that weren't even native to this solar system but...

Kuririn was deeply worried. Not just for Shirley, either. Those other kids... He'd seen them. How scared were they, right now? Drifting above the world... And with their own friends hurt... Maybe if Kuririn had stayed at the Lookout as an apprentice, none of this would have happened.

That's why he had to keep looking.

Worry for the children at the Lookout could not fill his mind. Other events vied for his attention and they were disorienting too. Two days ago the lawsuit against god had been abruptly dropped. In the sense that no one at the court house had any record or memory that such a case had ever existed. Yamucha had discovered this when he'd shown up for a scheduled court appearance and had been treated with polite amusement by the people who now sincerely believed that he was making up the entire story. The creatures involved in the violent protests that had been going on outside the courthouse had stood around for a while, confused and had then - for reasons still unexplained by what little media speculation currently existed - built a shrine to the modern clothes dryer before departing peacefully. Puar seemed to be among those left in a slightly altered mental state. She had forgotten about the lawsuit, taken up knitting and was currently making socks to donate to charity. Kuririn had declined to mention the apprenticeship to her. Yamucha had been glad to take over the rebuilding of his home, he had never been too keen on the mansion - it was more space than he'd ever needed. Both of them suspected that Korin was the one who had dropped the case but that wasn't going to earn the cat any immediate favors.

Yamucha had been a desert bandit. As such, he'd had to learn to do a lot of his own repairs to mechanical things. Also, Yamucha had survived a residence at Capsule Corp. So Kuririn had left him with all the possible trap devices and a roomful of remote controls, to figure the invention out.

And then, yesterday, Piccolo had arrived on the doorstep. Of the desert hideout. Which was an address that they hadn't ever mentioned to Piccolo. But there he'd been, under a pile of leaves. Sure, Piccolo might have just tracked their energy to this location but... Where had the leaves come from? They weren't sure how he'd arrived there and asking questions hadn't helped. Piccolo did not appear to be physically hurt but he was locked into a slightly altered mental state as well. The only coherant words they'd gotten out of the self-proclaimed demon so far were complaints about rhinocerouses. Which just made no sense.

Kami wasn't back on Earth yet. Not that Kuririn could detect. So if the battle in the afterlife was still going on... And it had started on November 27th... Two weeks, already? Half a month?

Had it already been so long since Kuririn had fought against his own evil side? It didn't seem so long ago. It would never seem long ago enough.

But especially given the state that Piccolo now seemed to be stuck in, Kuririn was also increasingly concerned for the Guardian. Kami had to be exhausted. Maybe Piccolo was suffering the same fatigue? Maybe it was hallucinations? Or had the witch landed some spells? Or was the afterlife just...weird...?

Kuririn did not have much memory of what being dead was like. He wasn't sure why. Everyone else that he knew who had ever died and been wished back - even Dende and the Nameks who had been stranded on Earth for a while... They had spoken of cloudscapes and orges and ghosts and paths and giant office furniture and judgement and... Goku had trained with the North-Kaiosama. Yamucha, Piccolo, Tenshinhan and Chaozu had each trained on the high gravity world of the blue god as well.

_Why didn't I get trained?_

He'd been dead for around five months, the second time. Kuririn was glad to be alive again. Usually. When overwhelming stress wasn't at the forefront. He wasn't going to complain, certainly. But... He had a competitive streak, too. And under the circumstances it was hard not to feel left out. He hadn't gotten to meet King Kai, the North-Kaiosama. The divine guardian of a quarter of the galaxy. What a strange honor that would have been, for a monk. And the training might have been practical to have. Especially if he had to contemplate a battle against Korin in the future. Which, Kuririn hated the thought, he did. Grudges aside... If anything had happened to Kami... The planet might need a new Guardian and... Who else was there, that was able to take the job right away? Kuririn wasn't exactly willing but he was already an apprentice and...

And there was the matter of pride to consider. Kuririn had gone through life feeling uneasy, like maybe he shouldn't have won certain battles. But against Korin, during that first training, he'd always felt confidence. To have been informed that the cat had held back... While not overly surprising in retrospect, it was still a blow to Kuririns hard-earned confidence. Against warriors like Goku this was not an issue - Kuririn had known when his friend was holding back. He had understood the reasons and had even been shown the amount of energy that he'd been spared dealing with. But against Korin... Kuririn had really believed that the cat had come at them with everything. Well. Not _everything. _Obviously. Korin was a spellcaster, the immortal cat knew magic. But... Everything else. The fighting skills. The martial arts. Kuririn had thought that he'd already seen the limits of what the cat could do without resorting to spells. It was...sneaky and insulting...to learn that this was not the case. And it meant that they did not know the truth of Korins power. Kuririn hated to imagine but wanted to know. Because the more that the cat had been holding back against him, all those years ago, the more misplaced his self-confidence had been.

Defeating the cat might be the only way to recover some of that self-esteem. Kuririn had gotten a lot stronger since he'd last trained at the tower. Even if he hadn't apparently been good enough to get selected for training on King Kais world.

_Why wasn't I good enough?_

Kuririn flew through the storms. Telltale shadows darkened the clouds ahead, indicating the presence of mountains. This was a reason to land. Which was not easy. There were not a lot places to land, here. The mountains were exceptionally jagged and steep. The ground was frozen. Kuririn struggled to get footing on a narrow ledge and wished for better visibility. The clouds were practically a feature of the landscape at this altitude, they existed as a dense freezing fog that obscured everything else. The peaks of the mountains were probably beautiful to see - if anyone could get above the clouds and have a look at them. And somewhere far below were the meadows, the forests and the roads.

And the temples. There were bound to be temples out here. Orinji Temple had been near some mountains. Most of the larger temples were. Mountains were considered holy places. There were a lot of reasons for this - the majority of which were mythical. Kuririn had studied the stories. Mountains held up the sky and gave birth to rivers were full of sacred ruins and ancient gravesites and... He tried to think about all the things he'd studied, while gathering his energy and preparing to fly again. He didn't try to walk anywhere. The fog was so dense that he couldn't even see his own clouds of breath in the cold winter air. The narrow ledge might be no more than a handhold so... A step in the wrong direction could turn out to be a sudden drop. Flying was not very safe in this part of the world but it still gave better odds for survival than other means of transport.

Which part of the world was it?

The clouds were so dense and dark, the air so cold... Was it night? Or was he just in the heart of the storm?

Unable to view enough of the landscape to identify it, Kuririn made an educated guess. The chain of thunderstorms had broken out over the western side of the continent so... These mountains were probably the Teeth of the Dragon. It was the largest range and the most famous. All sorts of stories. The tallest peak in the world was here. And the eldest peak. And there were rumors of a four-sided crystal pyramid hidden among the mountains with a river flowing from each perfect side. There were stories about wild dragons and other such creatures that might truly exist but that weren't often seen by humanity. Of course, with this fog it was hardly any wonder...

Kuririn returned to the sky. He tried not to feel discouraged. This was a challenge. He had the feeling that he'd been crashing - or just avoiding crashing - into roughly the same area of the mountains for the past two days. He didn't understand why he kept ending up out here. He wanted to get above the clouds and find the Lookout and make sure the kids were okay and figure out what to do if the kids were not okay and get some answers about Kami and...

There was a large cloud that, if he'd been thinking about it, had a distinct animal shape. Rather grey, too. But it was hard to notice that, from the inside of the cloud layers.

There was a break, for just a moment, in the clouds.

Kuririn glanced down, hoping to recognize a landmark and get his bearings.

Never really expecting to see a distant city that had been laid out so that from above it appeared to be a large flower.

He blinked and it was gone. For a moment, Kuririn wasn't even sure that he could have seen such a thing. And then, quite abruptly, he thought of everything else in his life that he couldn't have possibly seen. He was flying - that made the list. He'd never really expected to become capable of independent flight. Or bulletproof. Or able to run fast enough to be invisible to ordinary people. Detecting energy with such ease - he'd never expected to have that kind of skill. Training with gods and legends. Participating in the World Tournament at all, much less becoming a recognized regular there. Seeing the moon get blown up. Having friends from other planets. Fighting to defend planets. Kuririn had never expected any of it. He'd never expected to still be alive after two deaths. Never expected to be a teacher to Gohan or a possible adoptive father to a nine year old half-demon girl built by criminals. He'd never expected to discover that he was part of the Mutaito clan. And he had definitely never expected to be an apprentice to the guardianship.

And that was just the short version.

So... Mysterious cities in jagged mountains, isolated by geography and protected by magic... Why not? At least those, Kuririn... Well. He hadn't expected it. But he had read about such things, when he was younger. And there was always supposed to be a grain of truth to the stories - and it wasn't always the grain that most people thought was true. Stories got distorted that way. People could read about hidden cities and decide it was symbolic of something else. Because there couldn't really be any hidden cities, right? The whole planet had been explored and mapped and...

He tried to detect the city. Kuririn wondered if anyone was even down there. He hadn't been close enough to see anyone. He'd barely seen the city. He couldn't see it now, not with the bad weather. Maybe, some part of his brain wanted to keep insisting, he'd just been imagining it. Perhaps he'd been flying for too long and was starting to be affected by the cold. He had bundled up for the weather, had known what he was flying into but he just hadn't expected to spend so long stuck in the storms. Kuririn was drenched. He was windblown. He would have been frozen, if his aura hadn't prevented that much. The rain and snow was so constant, he'd given up on trying to dry out. He felt certain that the Lookout had to be orbiting above the clouds - that the clouds had been summoned or otherwise generated to obscure the precise location of the island.

Nothing. No energy to detect.

_I must have imagined... _Kuririn decided that maybe, just as soon as he got his bearings and could get out of the clouds, he would go back to the desert hideout and take a nap.

A leaf carried on a strange breeze chose this moment to smack him in the face.

There weren't even any nearby trees. Not visible. Even if the weather had been clear, there shouldn't have been any trees all the way up here. And not with healthy green leaves, not in winter. This wasn't a tropical climate. But when the leaf failed to get Kuririns full attention, someone threw a pineapple at him anyway.

**ooxoo**

**R**ed Ribbon had more problems than they even knew about. The entire computer network had gone strange on them. All the electronic forms of communication with the outside world had been cut. Red Ribbon agents were scattered across the world. They could get together for meetings in person but that was so old fashioned and travel was a chore. They had relied on phones and videophones and email and radio and... All that was gone. They still had the devices - the phones and computers and such - but none of them were currently working. Red Ribbon agents could write letters to each other but with the postal service rendered beyond defunct... The Red Ribbon Army had existed for more than two hundred years. No one could remember how the agents had communicated, back then.

The scientists had the worst of it. Whatever had shut down their communication - Dr. Gero was convinced it was the World Government sabotaging them - had also gotten to the heating and cooling systems. So the refrigerated rooms where they'd been working on Android 16... Those weren't refrigerated anymore.

16 was aware of this.

Because he wasn't one corpse, he was two. Sort of. Nearly. A corpse and a close-but-not-quite a corpse. And a robot, on top of that. But the programming hadn't been finished or switched on yet. So there were only two minds here, not three.

Well. Okay. There WERE three minds here. But Nine was only visiting. He'd sent his energy into the network, he was aware of the other things on the network. But... It was like plugging a computer into a printer. Nine was aware of some of the devices and able to mess most of them up but he was not spreading himself out into these devices. He did not become the printer that suddenly refused to print or the vending machine that did not how to make change or the copier that now had an eternal paper jam. He was not the air conditioner that decided to ignore all human commands or the heating system that kept resetting itself or the phones that only knew about dial tones. He had just visited those things. Nine didn't consider all the new...electronic accessories...of the extended network to be a part of him. Although he did pause and consider how strangely effective he was as a weapon this way. Red Ribbon could give 16 better armor and an internal bomb that was a doomsday weapon but Nine was, even now, happily and anonymously reprogramming weather satelittes and mucking with global broadcasting signals. He didn't even have to be fully assembled. He didn't have to declare a battlefield. He had a network to play with. The battlefield was everywhere that was connected.

If an android could have a super-type transformation, this was probably it. And if the world had been in better shape overall... If the network had been what it was, back before the dark clouds... Then Nine might have been capable of taking over the entire planet just by sheer force of network presence.

Android 16 admired this. Both of his minds. They hadn't agreed on much else.

Red Ribbon had built a cyborg once. They'd been told it was Tao Pai Pai - and they had been lied to. But none of the scientists had known Tao very well, he'd worked for the military side of the organization once in a while. Not the business and science side. Not the android side. And the lie had been told by the Crane Master. Taos elder brother. The Crane Master had said that it was Tao. Who were they, to question the brother about such things? The Crane Master had brought them the damaged near-corpse. The Crane Master had arranged for the transformation. Tao had worked for Red Ribbon before - why not turn him into a cyborg? He could work for them again, if they did. The Worlds Greatest Assassin had been hired more than once by Commander Red. For some reason it hadn't occured to anyone in the surviving sections of Red Ribbon to ask more questions about that. Commander Red had been killed. The military headquarters had been destroyed. Had Tao been a part of that incident? Had he helped to destroy the base? Or had he defended the Red Ribbon soldiers? Or had he been elsewhere? Where had Tao been, since then? And what had happened, to cause such dire injury to the Worlds Greatest Assassin? Given the mangled condition that Tao was in, how was he even still alive?

None of that had seemed overly important to these scientific minds. The challenge which had instead captured their attention had been to build a cyborg from a conscious living person. While keeping that person conscious. And alive. So because of what Red Ribbon had learned and experienced from building that cyborg, they were now able to do some of the same things with Android 16. Thus, ironically, the Worlds Greatest Assassin - or at least the lie about him - was the main reason that Sensei Jitsugen was not dead.

Sensei Jitsugen... He'd had some operations, after the dark clouds. He had not been conscious for most of those but he'd still been aware of them, on some level. It was not an unheard of thing, for a soul to wander out of a body. Even regular people could remember doing this. Especially during operations. A patient might wake up after surgery and be able to describe in great detail everything that had happened, as if they'd been standing over the doctors shoulder for the entire procedure. Maybe their souls had been. Some of his initial operations - the ones that had been necessary for his survival after the dark clouds - had been this way. Sensei Jitsugen had watched from a distance as his life was saved. Now he was becoming an android. And he watched.

He'd accepted this mission. He knew the risks. He also knew that he was not the only undercover World Government agent in the place. And he was not the only psychic employed by the government either. In fact as a near-ghost he was more at ease with his psychic senses than he had ever been before. Therefore being physically comatose and emotionally disoriented and mentally exhausted had not kept him from gathering some information and reaching out to send reports across spiritual channels. Sensei Jitsugen knew that he was doing important work, he was providing the world with a warning. He didn't know what the world could do about it, though.

The only ghost in the place had made some grumpy suggestions.

Sensei Jitsugen understood that his not-quite-a-corpse was being combined with another creatures actual corpse, as well as having all the mechanical and artificial additions. So he was keeping the disgruntled soul of a hostile alien company. While conversation had not been frequent... They'd been aware of each other for perhaps a month now. And they had found a few points of common ground. Well. Kind of. Sensei Jitsugen did not like aliens and was not thrilled to be in the process of becoming an android with one. But along with being a government agent, he'd been a martial arts teacher and had wanted to retire to his dojo to teach kids respect and... At least he was being combined with another teacher. A leader, anyway.

In human languages, the rank of General... Even in human languages the meaning varied. Sometimes a General was appointed to the job and basically only served to act as a translator between soldiers and politicians. But sometimes General was title that indicated seniority - a veteran warrior, someone that had earned the respect of other fighters. Sometimes the General was held responsible for training other soldiers, maintaining discipline within an army, coming up with battle plans or giving orders. But sometimes a General did all this while sitting behind a desk in a spacious office. It was, in most human languages, a title that meant someone else did the fighting for you. Generals were considered too important to put themselves in danger.

The Saiyan language had very different ideas about this. Being a Saiyan General - and they'd had more than one - meant being the first line of defense. The fierce Saiyan Army wouldn't follow anyone if they were sitting in an office somewhere. Nappa had not just survived battles, he'd survived leading the charge. He had been such a respected rank of General that he'd been close to equaling the authority of the Saiyan King. If Freezia hadn't blown up the entire Saiyan homeworld about twenty-six years ago then Nappa would have had as much claim to rule it as the Prince. Possibly more. When Kings were murdered, and the Saiyan history was even more violent than the Earth history so such an event had not been uncommon, Generals had often stepped into the gap. The Prince had only been a child, anyway. He wouldn't have lasted thirty seconds on the throne. Who was going to take orders from a bratty little kid? That wasn't the type of image the Saiyan Army would have wanted to project. Their friends, enemies and planetary neighbors would have laughed them out of existence. Much safer to have a veteran warrior rule the kingdom until the Prince was better able defend himself and navigate the local politics.

Except it hadn't worked that way, as mentioned. Freezia had blown up the entire Saiyan homeworld. The Saiyan Army was beyond the ability to care about its image now. The Saiyan race... Some had survived. But they were scattered. The survivors had been off-planet on various missions and duties. There was no way to be certain of how many members of the species there still were - Freezia had been aware of their space traveling tendencies. The Icejin might have hunted down and exterminated anyone who had refused to work for him. Hence even if there were still survivors... There were not likely to be enough survivors to really rule over or call a kingdom anymore. And there was also not any guarantee that those scattered survivors even knew what the word Saiyan truly meant.

Nappa had not been overly peaceful while alive. He wasn't about to rest in peace, either.

He was upset with the entire planet. This pathetic backwards mudball called Earth... How did such a world exist? A Saiyan child had been sent to destroy it and had failed to do so. Freezia and his kin could have easily conquered this planet, ages ago - but they had not. Raditz... Had been an utter weakling. But even Raditz - with his weak tail - had survived far worse things than this dirtball of a world. How had the ignorant natives managed to kill Raditz? How had the ignorant natives... And they WERE ignorant. They'd had a Saiyan with them but they hadn't know that he was a Saiyan, until Raditz had told them. And they'd had a Namek with them but they hadn't been fully aware of that either. And they had a demi-saiyan, a halfbreed... And they hadn't bothered to teach the kid any real fighting skills - the boy had been hesitant to even get angry. What a wimp! What a waste! How had these ignorant natives been so strong? If they didn't know about going to other planets or Saiyans or Icejins or anger - what had they been training against? How had they learned to detect energy, even without scouters? Why did such a boring tranquil world have such warriors on it? It didn't make sense.

On the one hand, Nappa had been killed by Vegeta. The Prince. Given that the Prince was now in his thirties, this was not a terrific surprise. The Prince had sort of outgrown the need for a guardian and they'd never been on the best of terms. It had been more or less traditional on the Saiyan world for the younger generation to take power in this way. Nappa had been...well...upset. What professional warrior wouldn't be? But only because he hadn't been given a proper chance to defend himself. Vegeta had attacked like a coward. The Prince had killed a warrior who was already injured. True Saiyans didn't believe in mercy. Where the Prince had learned the concept, Nappa did not know. But he hadn't wanted to die like some injured animal being put out of its misery. He'd wanted to be given the dignity of a fight. A proper one-on-one battle to the death. That was the custom when warriors pulled rank on each other.

On the other hand... At least being killed by the Prince had saved him from being killed by the Earthlings. That would have just been shameful, to a warrior of Nappas caliber.

Nappa had not been immediately aware of being an earthbound ghost. His soul had drifted in dark places for a while. He'd taken a while to calm down and see past his own anger. Nappa wasn't sure if the Prince was still alive and he didn't really care. He'd done his best for the brat but honestly, since the age of five Vegeta had been growing up in warzones on alien worlds. The warzone part was not bad, in Nappas opinion. The alien worlds part was. The kid - and even if Vegeta lived into triple digits which was exceedingly rare for a Saiyan warrior and even rarer for mortal royalty of any species, Nappa was always going to think of the Prince as a kid - had latched on to some alien ideas. The Prince, Nappa felt, wasn't a true Saiyan in anything but bloodline.

Like that irritating Kakarrotto guy, who should have destroyed this world. The one that Raditz had hoped to recruit. The one that Raditz had claimed was a half-brother. The warrior who had injured Nappa but who had refused to kill him - so Vegeta had taken up the slack. How annoying. What kind of warrior refused to kill their enemies?! What was the point in even being a warrior, if you couldn't kill your enemies?! Just how backwards WAS this stupid world, that it could warp so totally a Saiyans natural survival instincts? No matter what anyone said, that Kakarrotto was clearly a Saiyan in bloodline alone - and maybe only half his bloodline, at that. There was no way to be certain anymore. Saiyans... The King had always been more worried about his own people overthrowing him than trouble from outside. So as a culture, the Saiyans had keep fairly good records on their own population. But those had all been blown up with the homeworld, unless Freezia had made copies.

Saiyans had a lot of ideas about life. Not so many about death.

Nappa had seen dead things before. He had killed plenty of things, while alive. He'd occasionally had to survive by eating some of them. Warzones were not usually catered. Freezia gave orders and built facilites for medical care but did not discourage starvation among his troops. Only the favorites got special treatment. Everyone else was expendable. So yea, witnessing death had been an everyday thing. Sometimes it was the enemy and sometimes it was an ally and...

Hunger had actually been part of the problem, at the battle on Earth. They'd traveled for a year to reach this stupid world. They had slept for the journey, it had been a sort of frozen hibernation effect that had kept them alive. The only reason they hadn't stepped out of their spacepods and just vaporized the entire mudball... Aside from Vegeta being curious about the native warriors and potential magical artifacts... Had been because Nappa had been planning - hoping - to get a decent meal sometime. He hadn't eaten in a while. Raditz had - before the battles that had killed him - reported that this world was a hunters dream. Except that true Saiyans didn't dream. So it had just been a figure of speech.

Raditz had also picked up on too many newfangled alien ideas, as far as Nappa was concerned.

The afterlife was one of those ideas. True Saiyans killed things. They did not stop and think: 'gosh, I wonder what happens to that creature now.' No. They thought: 'It's dead. I'll go kill something else.' It was survival of the strongest, among true Saiyans. Being sentimental just made you look weak. If someone died then you either ate their remains - when times were rough and options were limited - or burned them, to prevent the spread of disease or just left their corpse to rot on the battleground. Sometimes, in special cases, it was acceptable to put a corpse out as a gruesome decorative warning to others. The wall around the Saiyan palace had once been home to such displays. But not too often because the Saiyan warriors were not easily upset by the sight of corpses and so the overall effect hadn't been very significant after a while - the gesture had lost its shock value.

Nappa had never expected to be a ghost. He hadn't known what a ghost really was, until becoming one. He WAS a ghost and he still didn't completely believe in ghosts. And he didn't completely approve of what was being done to his corpse, either. The Earthlings were just sick and primitive savages, from his point of view. He would have thought the same thing if they'd given him a nice funeral though. Because the idea of sticking a dead body in a box underground made no sense to Nappa - unless maybe you were trying to poison the soil.

And turning a dead body back into a sort-of living creature? And giving him weapons? It was sick. It was primitive. They were savages. BUT... At least maybe he'd have the opportunity to kill every single one of them, if they were stupid enough to flip the switches and activate this thing.

Nappa knew what an android was. He'd blown up a few, in his time. The Earthlings were nowhere near as advanced as some of the other creatures that he'd seen. From what he had learned since dying the Earthlings didn't have spaceships or regeneration tanks or even the ability to casually communicate with the residents of other planets. So Nappa was surprised, that the Earthlings had androids. He was between disgusted and delighted, to be becoming one of those androids. While he didn't really approve of the process... The result was going to be fun. He would have his revenge, on this pathetic mudball. And then, he'd look up certain warriors. That Kakarotto... The guy needed a lesson in why not killing things was a dumb idea. And Vegeta, if the Prince was still alive, needed to be reminded about why respecting his elders was a smart idea. And that weakling of a demi-saiyan, oh _there_ was a good example of punishment just begging to be given...

Sensei Jitsugen winced. He was aware of the ghost plotting revenge. Nappa thought about revenge frequently and his thoughts seemed loud, to anyone who was psychic. Nappa was... Well... There were people like this everywhere, probably. They had such forceful pride, high expectations and harsh opinions at the core of their personality. Sensei Jitsugen was under the impression that even if the entire Saiyan race had been alive and well, Nappa probably would have skulked around complaining about how no one else knew what it meant to be a true Saiyan. Nappa probably was, by his own mental definitions, the only true Saiyan that had ever been.

This was cause for concern. Sensei Jitsugen hadn't been able to talk with the ghost much and had given up on trying to change the Generals mind. Nappa was exceptionally stubborn. Sensei Jitsugen was worried about this. Android 16 was being built from both of them. Which personality was going to be dominant? Nappa had far more power, even as a ghost. And he also had a lot more fighting experience. It would be hard to resist his reflexes, if the deceased Saiyan General got control of the android body. But... 16 had a third persona as well, the digital one. The one that hadn't been finished or fully turned on. If Sensei Jitsugen could combine more intimately with that... Could he force the robot to be peaceful? By being the android, would he be able to change who it was loyal to? Could he steal the weapon right out from under Red Ribbon? Could he turn it into a servant of the World Government?

The network signal had changed. Android Nine was, in a certain sense, watching them over the wires.

_Do I have an ally?_ Sensei Jitsugen wondered. He was surprised to think that there were any other robots. He hadn't been aware of them before, they hadn't been mentioned when he'd been informed of this mission. Had Red Ribbon built them so quickly? That didn't seem possible. Nor did it seem possible that any of the other robots could be mentally independent. Sensei Jitsugen was suspicious. Nine had caused a lot of damage to the Red Ribbons private network but... Was this some kind of trick? Or was Nine just geniunely malfunctioning? It was hard to know who to trust. It was hard to know if the other robots even knew what trust meant.

Android 16 recieved an electronic request from the network. 'Will you download these files?' asked an innocent network computer.

Sensei Jitsugen was still attached to his not-yet-a-corpse so it was like getting an email in his head. He wasn't sure how to respond. He wasn't practiced at this kind of telepathy. He wasn't even sure that it was telepathy. Android 16s internal computers made no decision. Nappa was busy plotting revenge.

Android Nine convinced the network that no response actually meant: 'Absolutely!'

The download began.

**ooxoo**

**S**tegosaurus are amazing creatures but they are not typically known for being able to run very fast or at high speeds or for very long. Running away from predators was always an option but they had developed other methods of defending themselves. Spike had only gone a few blocks from the animal shelter before slowing down. He'd found a giant puddle of water, a nice patch of sun to rest in and hadn't moved much since.

Delerious, who had just missed being impaled on a lethal tailspike, had also just missed being squashed.

Pilaf had been trying to get the tiny red cat to bite the dinosaur again and had, instead, been bitten. Delerious had also eaten the goldfish and mangled all the other remaining animals. The hostile little bundle of red fur lay hissing in the street, sometimes clenching a tiny paw or coughing up something ghostly. Spike ignored this and moved with the shade, turning towards the sun. Pilaf still refused to give up on the concept of an animal army. So he'd broken into a few different places - not that many places were locked anymore, amid the ruins... And had eventually found a small forklift.

For the past four days, Pilaf had been trying to move the dinosaur. Spike had been moved, once, and had gotten up and trundled back out to rest in the sun. He'd also broken the forklift multiple times, just by leaning on it. Pilaf kept repairing the vehicle. The forklift was starting to resemble a tank. Mai had refused to try and tow the dinosaur with her car.

"Uhm..." Shou felt like a broken record. But usually their plans didn't take this long to explode. And he still didn't understand why the dinosaur was so important or how a scruffy little group of unwell animals could hope to defeat Red Ribbon, the largest criminal organization on the planet. Usually Pilaf explained. Even when the plan was so obvious that no explanation was needed, Pilaf had always explained before.

They were camped in the ruins of what had once been a grocery store. Sometimes the dinosaur grazed on the remains of the groceries. The place was pretty well picked over and reminded Shou more of a landfill than a ruin but his friends were resourceful. They could make do. And besides, if they needed anything... This side of the town was a mess but the other side of town... It looked like someone had been smart enough to remember that the capsule house had been invented. So half the town was ruins and the other half was neat residential domes. The people around here weren't going to rebuild, they were going to sweep away the ruins and order more capsules from a catalog. Shou was nervous. For one thing the cleanup meant that people were living around here. For another thing, capsule buildings were not cheap. Someone halfway wealthy had to be funding this towns recovery. And halfway wealthy people tended to employ guards and have strong opinions about people like Pilaf.

No one had approached them yet but it was bound to happen eventually. They had a large dinosaur. They had a trail of dinosaur footprints leading to their current location. Someone had probably seen their not-so-great escape. Was anyone going to believe that maybe this was all part of a movie? What if the animal shelter had reported their crime? They weren't too far away from that place, people might be looking for them. They might be wanted as thieves. There might even be a reward for turning them in. And Mai still had a car full of chemicals, so it wasn't as if they could deny...

Shou was a humanoid dog. If he was arrested, he didn't know where he would be sent. To jail? To a zoo? To a circus? Maybe even back to the animal shelter?

Lord Pilaf had been arrested a few times. Mai had been arrested a few times. Shou hadn't. Ever. He'd always escaped. And his friends didn't mind because he'd always come back and helped them escape, too.

He could smell trouble coming. Or was that just what he expected to smell?

**ooxoo**

**Y**amucha was starting to feel like the warden of a rather cramped asylum. The desert hideout was one room, one bathroom and a garage. And currently he had Piccolo hiding in the garage, complaining about rhinocerouses. Puar was hovering around knitting and she had gotten worse. There wasn't much furniture in this space but every piece of furniture inside the hideout that had legs now also wore socks on those legs. Where Puar was getting the yarn from, Yamucha had no clue but there was always a ball of it trailing along the ground after her. Which meant that the entire inside of the hideout was now one massive colorful tangle.

And also several piles of remote controls. Yamucha had sorted them but was not going to try to activate a trap device. He already felt trapped enough. And he wasn't certain, actually, that any of these remotes were the right one. He knew that sometimes Bulma just collected things. Plus Bulma was the sort of person - and her parents were this way too - that kept all the instructions for things, even if she never intended to read them. These remotes... Some were for older model televisions and some were for antiquated stereo systems and some were for remote-controlled toys... All things that Bulma had probably taken apart ages ago. Yamucha had seen her convert a remote-control toy car into a remote-control lawn mower once. He hadn't hung around to see what she turned the remote-control toy airplane into. Probably some of these remotes were for domestic robots now and at least two of the remotes were in fact regular garage door openers and there was even a phone here... Kuririn must not have looked at these very closely before packing them up.

There was only one unique remote control in the whole stack: it had a mute button and nothing else. Yamucha was almost tempted to put new batteries in that one, just to see what it did. But getting new batteries would have required leaving and he wasn't sure that it was safe to leave. Piccolo was acting like a badly frightened child. Puar might knit a sock large enough to put on the actual building.

Besides, the news of the world beyond did not seem much more comforting. Kami had not returned to Earth. The Lookout was now being concealed. The weather had gone a bit magical, thunderstorms did not usually cover such a wide area for such an extended amount of time. Kuririn was determined to rescue some kids who might not even like him and was also determined to eventually challenge an immortal cat. Korin had nine lives and might be living as many as three of them at once. Yajirobe was not detectable to consult with - it could have been helpful, where was the samurai? Considering how much they'd been around that side of the world lately, it was bit odd that they hadn't seen or heard more from the veteran. Wasn't the samurai supposed to be taking care of the senzu these days? He hadn't even been at the tower, while the apprentices were training. But maybe Yajirobe was still out helping the world recover from the dark clouds. Or maybe he was out training. Master Roshi and Oolong were out hitchiking with pirates and - Yamucha could detect energy - so was Gohan. He wondered why Kuririn hadn't told him that.

An unnatural breeze and a swirl of leaves creaked against the door.

This had happened yesterday as well, when Piccolo had turned up. Yamucha was not opposed to leaves but this was a desert. His hideout was in the lower eastern part of the continent. A person flying from the Son House to Ox Kings Castle might pass overhead, the hideout was located on that side of the world and was roughly inbetween those locations. There were forested mountains to the north and a few swamps along the river and sub-tropical volcanic deserts further south but... Not here. He was closer to Kame Island than Korins Tower, here. So he didn't have the exact same kind of desert as the sanctuary and the witches oasis but... It was still a desert. It was isolated. It was without large numbers of trees. And the pile of leaves that Piccolo had arrived under... The bandit hadn't recognized what kind of plant the leaves were from.

Yamucha watched the door expectantly. The tangle of yarn prevented him from trying to reach it. While he could certainly break all the yarn, he wasn't sure how Puar would react if he did. She seemed in a delicate state.

The door creaked open. Kuririn was drenched, windblown, up to his waist in the strange leaves and clutching a pineapple. He had a haunted expression and the energy of someone who may have just been slapped but with something not entirely unpleasant.

What could anyone even say?

Yamucha thought about asking where the pineapple had come from but went to look for a dictionary instead. He knew there was one here somewhere and he just wanted to find out if his photo had been inserted next to the word 'doomed'.

"I think... I think..." Kuririn floated indoors, he wasn't walking. He picked his way through the tangle and spoke as if half in a dream. "I think that I know where I went, when I died..."

Well, at least he wasn't complaining about rhinocerouses. Yamucha decided to see if continuing the conversation helped his friend return to a more normal state. "Oh?"

"At Orinji Temple... They always said... Heaven was on Earth." Kuririn put the pineapple on a table as if it were the most precious thing in the universe. "I grew up believing that. I guess for some people, it's true. We don't go to the afterlife... We have a paradise here."

Yamucha gave this some consideration and eventually shrugged. Why not? To each their own. Every life was different. Why should every afterlife be the same? "Guess that explains why we couldn't detect your soul after planet Namek blew up. We were looking in the wrong place."

"...yeah..." There were some snapping noises.

Yamucha looked up from the yarn-and-cobweb ridden bookshelf and nearly fainted from concern at the sight that he beheld. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!"

Kuririn had just put all of the trap devices on. He glanced at the piles of remote controls. "Which one...?"

"You've lost your mind..." Yamucha broke the yarn and tried to get near his friend, hoping to remove the metal rings. Somewhere among the tangle, a ball of yarn stopped rolling after a hovering cat. Puar reached the end of the line a second later and stared at an unfinished sock between her knitting needles then sniffled.

Kuririn only had to summon part of his aura to throw the bandit backwards. "I have, actually." His voice was back in the normal range but more determined than usual. "I still can't remember a lot about what happened when I was dead. I'm hoping that these can help. You can either tell me which remote or I'll just try them all."

"Don't know which one." Yamucha grumbled, now with a sobbing feline perched on his shoulder. Then he switched back to concern. "Look, what do you hope to gain by... I mean, Piccolo had to just about die to get one of these off and you're wearing..."

"Hmf. If I die now, at least I know where my soul will end up." Kuririn muttered darkly. He let a long moment pass and then added, in milder tones. "This is going to be hard to believe but I've always been kinda lousy at meditation."

"You're a monk-" Yamucha began to counter.

"I was RAISED by monks." Kuririn pointed out, sifting through the remote controls. "Sitting around and pretending to meditate, that's not hard. Anybody can fake it. I should know, I did. I never meant to but... Clearing your mind... When you're age thirteen or under... and curious.. and have an imagination... and can hear the other kids whispering insults about you..." Kuririn shrugged. "It's not easy to reach an enlightened state that way. And I haven't done a lot of meditating since I left the temple. But these will zap me if I do anything else, right? So maybe if I can reach a trance then I'll be able to remember a few more things. You think I'd be doing this if it wasn't important to me?" Kuririn took an unsteady breath. "You don't know your parents. Right now, I don't even know my own brain. Do you have any idea how that feels? And don't say that you do because you can't."

Kuririn was now holding the remote that had the mute button and nothing else. He was puzzled by it.

"None of these remotes have batteries in them." Yamucha said, he'd made sure of that earlier. He was lightly scratching Puar behind the ears but that didn't seem to help much. "And none of them are labeled 'trap device' either. And we happen to have Piccolo hiding in the garage - he's supposed to be good at meditation, isn't he? If you can pry him away from the small fort he's constructed then maybe that would be a safer approach to this problem?" Yamucha resisted mentioning that this entire course of action did not seem to be something that would resolve any of their other problems.

Then again... Yamucha had trained while dead. He could remember that. Would the afterlife training have done him any good, if he hadn't been able to remember it after being wished back to life? Maybe. Probably. Not remembering the training wouldn't have undone it. Yamucha still would have come back faster and stronger. He just would have lost all the inventions thast he'd worked on while dead. Hrm. So yea... Kuririn may have lost something important by not being able to remember his time as a ghost. And if Kuririns soul had been on Earth somewhere... The idea of a paradise on Earth, did that mean they would be able to visit the place without being dead? It was perhaps a long shot but... If you couldn't get answers in paradise then where could you get answers?

"Just lose the traps and I'll help." Yamucha gently set Puar on the table and turned towards the garage. The bandit considered taking a weapon. He didn't want to cause any harm to Kami but his mansion had been leveled by people powering up indoors. Yamucha didn't want to have the hideout leveled. He was concerned that Piccolo might just power up when they approached. The green warrior hadn't been acting rationally since his arrival.

Kuririn was getting closer to being rational but was still not quite able to shake the troubling sensation that he had glimpsed a place that he couldn't clearly remember - and had been to before, twice. He set the mute-button-only remote down and fiddled with the metal rings on his arms, it was like having a bunch of weighted bracelets. They weren't all that heavy - not compared to some of the weights he'd worn in the past - but they stung and they didn't seem to want to come off now.

Puar was sobbing against the pineapple. She was smaller than the pineapple but had more strength. The pineapple fell over. The mute button was pressed.

The remote control did not have any batteries in it - but Bulma had designed this invention so that it didn't actually need batteries. Because it would be sort of hazardous, wouldn't it, to allow the trap device to rely on batteries. If you trapped someone and they were upset with you then you probably didn't want to know what the prisoner would do to you when the batteries ran out. You probably wouldn't have time to fumble around looking for more batteries. Also, Bulma hadn't labeled the remote. She didn't usually label her remotes. Bulma had a good memory when it came to her own inventions, she didn't often need to label things. Not unless she intended for other people to use her inventions. And while Bulma had designed the trap device to be used around other people, sort of... She hadn't intended for those other people to be on the remote control side of this particular invention. So it wasn't labeled.

Not all of the trap devices were activated by this remote control. But about half of them were. Kuririn had been hit with a wide array of things, in his life. Nothing quite like this. If not for all his training and experience - and especially the semi-recent experiences, of being trapped at the witches oasis and then at the Lookout - then he might not have survived.

His mind almost instantly reached a place that it hadn't consciously been before. Not while he was alive. There was a grey memory. It gradually took the shape of a rhinocerous.

**ooxoo**

**K**orin was a good teacher. Mister Popo was a good teacher. The witch, she could be a good teacher. Master Mutaito was a legendary teacher.

Who had taught them?

The goddess did not train warriors. The goddess was an artist. The goddess was innocent. It was necessary for the soul of the planet to remain this way in order for her energy to support life on Earth. But the Voice of the Goddess... Well. There was a creature who knew how to put a spin on the words when she wanted to. When she needed to. When the world needed her to. And martial arts _was_ an art, in it's own way. And just because you were training a warrior, that didn't mean you had to teach them about fighting. It wouldn't be sensible really, would it? What could she teach a warrior about fighting? They already knew about fighting, that's why they were warriors.

People didn't come to the hidden city to learn what they already knew.

Or did they?

Sometimes, you had to take things away from people before they could appreciate the value of what they'd had. Sometimes, people didn't really understand their own heads. They didn't always consciously know everything they knew until they happened to tell someone else.

This was the style of teaching that happened in paradise. This was why students could not be accepted very often. They had to learn a lot, before they could come here. They had to learn and then forget a lot. Only students who needed to be reminded of things would end up here. The students would not remember the teacher and they would not remember the hidden city, once they left it. Not even her immortal students were permitted to remember her clearly. But the lessons that they'd already known - the things she'd skillfully reminded them of - those could remain with them.

The Voice of the Goddess... That was just her most formal title. It wasn't her most active one. The goddess hadn't been feeling well for the past four hundred years, she hadn't had a lot to say.

The hidden city had the perimeter of a flower. Anyone who saw the shape from above would know the name of both the city and the rhinocerous who guarded this place: Lotus. It was a holy name and she was now a holy being. She hadn't always been. She had begun life as a mortal soul, a regular animal but had been blessed with a connection to the divine. The planet was called Earth. Prehistoric rhinos had been among the first Earth elementals. Over time Lotus had become humanoid, if only in the sense of able to speak and walk upright. She wore plain brown clothes. She was content with plain brown clothes. She was older than the mountains and twice as stubborn. A teacher to Korin couldn't have been anything less. But she was compassionate, with her stubborness. Because she considered compassion to be an effective weapon in its own right.

She was a philosopher.

And a survivor.

The hidden city had not always been hidden. It had existed before the mountains. It had been a tropical city once, sitting on a coastal plain. It had been a different flower shape, back then. A five petal cherry blossom. Then two drifting continents had met and the mountain range had risen. The goddess had done some welding. The goddess was, in some ways, like any other child who had ever playfully smashed their toys together while laughing. The city had been elevated and isolated and landlocked, all in one long creative natural disaster. But it had survived. The city had been warped into a new shape and renamed. So had most of the startled creatures who had been living in the area. And the city had gradually benefitted from the protection of being an isolated place. Mysterious indeed were the ways of the goddess.

All the wild creatures were pure in some way. All the plants and animals had something to teach. Turtles represented patience. Cranes were symbols of longevity. Frogs were symbols of transformation. Dogs represented friendship. Cats symbolized leadership. Rabbits were lucky. Rats were clever. Penguins were resourceful. Monkeys were inventive. Pigs were noble. Dragons were eccentric. Walrus could be mystical. The list went on. You could go to the afterlife for all kinds of answers - but why travel so far? Maybe some of the answers were closer to home. Every inhabited world probably had their own version of the hidden city. It was the paradise of the animals and the plants. There were some human and humanoid residents but those were a minority here. This paradise was for those that did not require judgement. This paradise was for the souls of the pure.

Rhinocerous represented purity of focus. The lotus flower was a symbol of rebirth. Pineapple... Well. It had just been convenient.

Lotus didn't mind that her students forgot her. She didn't mind if they forgot the city. That always happened. It was meant to happen. Being forgotten made it easier, to protect the paradise. But it did upset her a bit, when her students forgot the teachings that she'd worked so hard to remind them of. And she wasn't accustomed to having to remind anyone more than once. She was very good at reminding people of things. They didn't usually need to be reminded more than once. They really shouldn't need to be reminded three times. But she wasn't about to let any of her students squabble. Lotus was compassionate, after all. She didn't like her students picking on each other - even if they didn't remember that they were both her students. She could remind them, if she had to. And Korin might be the Immortal Tiger but no sane tiger was going to want to take a rhino by the horns. She was capable of a wicked headbutt, if absolutely necessary. That's what she told herself.

She was humanoid. It hadn't been compulsary. Lotus had chosen to become humanoid because the goddess was human. Lotus worked for the goddess. She was Her Voice. She was supposed to help the goddess understand and communicate with humanity - so it had made sense, to become a little humanoid. But being humanoid, if only in the sense of walking upright and speaking and wearing simple clothes and drinking tea out of a teacup... It caused human-shaped thoughts, sometimes.

The Guardian of the Earthly Paradise felt irritated. Lotus was aware of the world beyond. She had to be. How could she guard the hidden city from outside threats if she wasn't aware of the world beyond? How could she be the Voice of the Soul of the Planet if her awareness ended at the city walls? Lotus wasn't psychic but she had lived a long time, she had a good memory and she was attuned to the energy of the world. That was informative enough.

She didn't approve of the events that had taken place over the last three hundred years, for the most part. But it wasn't her job to prevent such things, it was her job to guard the hidden city.

Twenty-six years ago, Lotus had casually used her influence to trip a little boy. He'd fallen off a cliff and banged his head, the poor dear. Had gotten a permanant scar on the back of his skull. Had forgotten all about wanting to destroy the planet. Darn. What a shame.

Okay, so that had been bending the rules. Lotus didn't regret it. Much. And Goku had turned out all right, hadn't he?

However the current situation with the young green warrior was particularly troubling to Lotus. She couldn't resolve it by throwing him off a cliff, for starts. She'd been tempted anyway. The young self-proclaimed demon looked like his alleged father - the deceased demon. Worse, he looked like his true father - the current Guardian. And the goddess, bless her, was not the most attentive creature for social details. What if the goddess healed? What if she woke up? What if she mistook the eleven year old warrior for her current husband? The goddess had been comatose for centuries, she was hardly aware of Kami. The goddess couldn't be very aware of Kamis son, not even if she'd helped create him. The goddess might not be able to tell the two apart.

Lotus was exceptionally focused. She was an expert at teaching creatures how to be content. But an expert knows how to pick their battles and the mere thought of potentially having to sort this confusion out at some point in the future was giving her a headache. It didn't help that the green kid was always meditating out here. He'd spent more than half his life wandering around in nature. His favorite places - had nobody told him? Kami had first arrived on Earth in roughly the same area that his son now frequently called home. And the kid had come dangerously close to the hidden city, more than once. Lotus had finished kicking him out of the entire mountain range just yesterday. Maybe he would stay away for a bit. Hopefully he'd remember the lesson.

There was a important opportunity for change on the horizon - the little girl with three eyes. If that child made it through the witches training then Lotus might have an interesting student but that was years off, if it happened at all. The future was uncertain. In the meantime... Considering her age, Lotus was not usually impatient. She was not the type to hurry. But she was focused. And if you didn't take the moment when it was ripe then it would spoil. Use it or lose it, that's how humans expressed the idea. At least the humans had some things right.

Philosophy is as good as magic when it's older than the mountains. Lotus was technically mortal but she played by the standard immortal rules and her targets included other immortals. She wasn't going to make decisions for them but she could spread some influence. She already had. Lotus had really hoped for Piccolo to leave with the other Nameks, when they'd wished themselves to their own new world. She'd kept hoping that he would change his mind, get a spaceship and go away. If breaking the spirit-bond between father and son helped with that, great. Lotus was aware of the idea because it had been hers to begin with.

Korin could summon thunderstorms and sink islands. The witch could turn the afterlife into an empty place with a spell called Forgive and Forget. Master Mutaito had invented the Evil Seal. Mister Popo... Eh. The elfin genie was a student after her own heart, only dangerous when he really needed to be. Lotus had survived these students. _And_ the noseless monk, her most recent student, who seemed to keep forgetting how dangerous he was. Which was silly. Because it was as plain as the nose on... Oh. Nevermind.

Lotus had also survived her teacher which was a remarkable accomplishment. The goddess didn't quite understand the concept of dangerous. It was hard to make a planet feel threatened. Earth had been threatened, more than once, but she hadn't ever felt that way. And the goddess was innocent, she didn't threaten things. Not sincerely. Not often. The soul of a planet does not have to make threats very often. Not many creatures were willing to risk upsetting their own life support.

But the appointed Voice of the Planet, when needed, can speak up.

Lotus channeled her energy through her bare feet - her round, wide, grey feet - and felt her influence spread through the ground like...well...a charging rhinocerous. It wasn't a spell or an attack, not really. It was a philosophy. It was focused. It was trouble, from paradise. Sent with love. Tough love.

She was not invincible. Anyone could block her energy. Or reverse it. Or dodge it. Anyone could resist her influence. But only if they sensed it coming. Only if they remembered. Not many creatures did. And if they were in the air or on the water then they'd have a protective buffer. Her influence spread through the land, through the rocks and the roots. But even there... The land was full of unnatural structures and other such barriers. Lotus knew that she couldn't reach everyone. That was all right, she didn't need to reach everyone. She'd never needed to reach everyone. If Lotus did her job well then she should never need to even try to reach everyone. Because how long would the hidden city remain hidden, if she could reach everyone? She wasn't aiming to advertise her location or even her existence.

Her students shouldn't remember her. But Korin and Mister Popo both lived in the air. The witch lived near a lake. Mutaito, even after his death, had been spirit-bound to a denshi jar that was kept underwater. So they remembered something because they were shielding themselves, in a way.

Some gods considered influencing mortals to be a game. Chess. Poker. Tag. That was Korin, he played tag with humanity. He chased things and got things to chase him and shaped lives that way. Lotus was not a god but she worked for the goddess. The goddess didn't play these kinds of games so Lotus played on her behalf. Lotus could play with humanity too, she'd been playing for a long time. It was part of her job. It was part of how she protected the hidden city. And Lotus played dominos because that was a good game for a rhino, that was her approach. You only had to nudge the right parts and the energy would do the rest itself. Lotus couldn't beat Korin at tag. She couldn't beat the witch at poker. She couldn't beat Mister Popo at chess. But they couldn't beat Lotus, at dominos.

She would just remind a few select creatures of some very important facts.

The mountain range known as the Teeth of the Dragon was famous for many things but was infamous as well, for the amount of fatal road-closing avalanches that happened there. The range was not often climbed or trekked or even fully mapped for this reason. Lotus was not about to let her hidden city be mapped, after all.

**ooxoo**

**Authors Footnote: **To any loyal readers, I just wanted to say: don't lose hope. The end is in sight. This story is winding down. I am aiming to keep it under sixty parts. We'll see. I've got plans. I've still got some things left to cover but Lotus is my final original character. I was reluctant to invent her at all but her existence makes so much sense in this world and I'll need her to help reach the goals I've set. If all goes well then no one should be too disappointed. Surprised, hopefully but not disappointed. If you've read this far then you might notice that I'm trying very hard not to be predicable so... Please be patient. The last chapters are coming together very slowly, I want to be extra careful with them.

**ooxoo**


	41. Testing: December 10th, 763 AD

_**Eclipse**_

**by DoraMouse**

**ooxoo**

**Testing: December 10th, 763 A.D.**

**S**wish. A graceful arc of movement. The flash and gleam of metal in a place where few things were solid. A rush of air and slight twisting of the clouds traced the unseen footsteps of an increasingly fierce battle.

Yajirobe was still a ghost. As such, he did not need to eat or drink or sleep. He missed those habits - he missed all the routines of life - but he had begun to appreciate the benefits of training while dead. Life was full of distractions. Death... Well. It certainly made you rethink your priorities. In Yajirobes mind the experience was, for lack of a better comparison, like being in the war again. When you were a swordsman running at full tilt towards a modern soldier armed with a gun, hoping to reach the idiot before he could pull the trigger... When it was a matter of blade verses bullet... If you didn't have complete focus then nine times out of ten, you died. Or wished that you had.

It had taken a while for the samurai to slip back into that mindset. Yajirobe did not enjoy his memories of the war. But this, he had reluctantly decided, was not the time to dwell on what he liked and disliked. This was training. And his current opponent was the soul of a legendary swordsman. If he was going to have even a remote chance at success then he had to focus. Completely. And remain focused. And attack, instead of just blocking all the time.

Swish. The incoming oar was redirected.

Yajirobe pressed forward, circling. He was matching Musashis pace more often now. Anticipating and countering the strikes. Recognizing and avoiding traps. Forcing mistakes. Controlling the speed and direction of the battle. Not always. But sometimes. It was progress. It was gradual.

Honor was not always an easy concept to come to terms with. Those modern soldiers back in the war, those gunmen... They pulled a trigger. They attacked from a distance. They didn't have to get close enough to look their victim in the eyes.

Yajirobe did.

Because honor was not just about how other people treated you. No, honor was also about how you treated other people. And if you were off hiding behind a wall somewhere, pushing buttons and ending lives... If you couldn't show your face to your enemy... Where was the honor in that? Where was the respect?

Musashi was an absolute legend. He was already dead and had been so for centuries - but he'd had a life once. Yajirobe felt respect, both for the warrior and for the value of life. Thus the samurai was literally facing his opponent as much as possible. And so once in a while, despite his improved focus, Yajirobe still hesitated. Because facing an opponent while attacking them required a steady stream of courage. Yajirobe was a skilled warrior capable of extreme bravery but usually his courage only came in short bursts. Because what he'd been trained to do, mostly, was chop off his opponents head. Chasing an opponent down and getting past their defenses - that could take awhile. But once the serious fighting was underway... The actual amount of time that it took to chop off a head, end a life... Could be measured in seconds. Sometimes less.

Yajirobe took some comfort from the fact that his current opponent was a ghost. He probably wouldn't have to watch a ghost die. It probably wasn't possible for any such thing to happen. That was good. Yajirobe had never taken pleasure at the sight of dying things. He'd accumulated too many memories of precisely what death could look like. The gruesome final expressions of so many soldiers... Many of whom had been young men, not so different from Yajirobe himself at the time. He'd worn their blood without even knowing their names. It was reflex. It was training. He was samurai. He could behead a person as soon as look them, when he absolutely had to. But... Deep down, it made him sick to recall. Because he'd always respected life. Granted, during battles, Yajirobes respect had tended to be for his own life especially. He was a smidge biased in that regard - who wouldn't be? - and his own survival had frequently been the immediate concern. So he had fought to survive. Still the fact remained: he wouldn't have gone to all the trouble of surviving if he had ever doubted the value of life in the first place.

Even the few opponents that Yajirobe had known well enough to despise... Even the renegade ninjas and assorted dangerous madmen that Yajirobe had gone out of his way to hunt down over the years... He sincerely did not regret his actions. He had been trying to make the world a better place. A safer place. But he had never taken any joy from the killing. Because he had respect for the value of life. And because he understood that every life touched others. And so no matter how much of a favor you were doing the world by attempting to kill off just the evil people... There was always someone else being hurt by extension.

Which is why - for a samurai - all battles are life and death. If something is not worth dying for then, as far as a samurai is concerned, it is not worth fighting about. And if you were going to bother to risk your life... If you were going to be prepared to end someone elses life... Then yes, by all means, it was personal. No point in denying that.

Yajirobe wondered, sometimes, about the warriors who used energy blasts. All of them. Good and bad. Friend and enemy. If even the heros were becoming so powerful that they could, in theory, level cities from far away... Then how close were they, really, to just being a different sort of gunman? Might there come a day when the samurai would be forced to try and remind the other warriors of Earth that power was not the same thing as honor? That strength was not an automatic substitute for respect or courage? What could happen, if they all forgot?

He did not even want to think about thinking about that. Yajirobe was aware of the potential risk for such a scenario but he had other plans for the future. He had other goals. And he needed to stay focused, to achieve those. One step at a time. One battle at a time. One moment...

Yajirobe renewed his focus. And blinked.

The No Ken, the divine katana which had managed to remain solid even in the afterlife, was not visible. Yajirobe could feel the blade in his hands - or at least, he thought that he could. His hands were ghostly. Was it possible to register the sensation of weight with ghostly hands or was that just some kind of muscle memory? Was this a trick of the mind? Or a trick of the soul? Why would the sword stop being visible now?! True, as long as the sword WAS actually still in his hands then he could probably continue to duel and... Or did the sword abruptly going invisible mean that he'd finally activated...?

Musashi floated nearby and refrained from attacking. The legendary swordsman - and equally legendary fisherman - allowed the samurai to panic in silence for a long moment then sighed, coughed politely and pointed with his oar.

A few clouds away, there was a familiar gleam against the darkness. A small shape clung to a large sword.

"...shiny..." murmured the spirit of Proto2A. She had been known among her genetic peers as the girl maniac of all things sharp. Despite the best efforts of Red Ribbon employees to keep her away from such items, she had managed to accumulate an impressive collection. Needles. Scissors. Nail clippers. Pencil sharpeners. Staplers. Medical instruments. Construction tools. Honestly, it was amazing that Proto2A hadn't done serious harm to herself during her life. Then again, her interest had always been more focused on hoarding the sharp objects than actually using them. And she'd never had the chance to get her hands on a sword before. She seemed entranced.

Yajirobe winced then recovered. First, from the fact that he'd allowed a divine katana to be taken right out of his hands and second, from the fact that he recognized this ghost. He didn't know this kid but he'd seen her corpse. Her twisted, punctured, half frozen corpse. This was the girl who had been out flying around in the mountains when the dark clouds had come. She'd fallen from the sky without shielding herself. It was not a pleasant memory. Thankfully, here in the afterlife, her soul was in better condition. She looked like a healthly - if mildly transparent - little kid. Almost ordinary. She'd apparently been built by evil people for evil purposes but she'd didn't actually look too... Well, okay. Nevermind. This ghostly kid DID sort of look evil at the moment since she was gazing into the blade so intensely.

Wait. Did she see something, reflected there?

Cautiously, Yajirobe approached. Maybe he would be able to catch a glimpse. Better yet, maybe he would be able to snatch the sword back. Stealth seemed like the best option. Yajirobe thought that if he just demanded the sword back, the girl would probably throw a tantrum or run away or - worst of all - attack. These...built children... They were all trained to fight, weren't they? That was the theory? So this girl... Might she know how to use a sword? How was he supposed to defend against...?

"Would it hurt to ask politely?" said a familiar voice.

Yajirobe became the first ghost in recorded history to bite his own tongue. He spent a few startled moments being surprised at the pain this caused. Eventually he turned, scowling and fully expecting to see a certain immortal white cat. Instead the samurai was confronted by the sight of a ghostly young boy in a red and black school uniform. Dark eyes. White hair and a long furry white tail. Yajirobe stared. This boy was the other corpse that he'd seen at the meeting. The other kid who had been out flying around when the dark clouds had come. But to hear the boys voice... This confirmed what the samurai had privately suspected. The criminals who'd built these children HAD somehow gotten genetic samples from Korin. But...how? And when? And why would Korin have allowed...?

And these kids... If they were even fractionally related to Korin... Korin was immortal.

Proto9A drifted between the adults and went to stand by his sister who remained focused on the blade. "People always told me that if I wanted respect, I would have to earn it." The boy spoke in quiet tones that blended defiance and disappointment. "Same to you. That's what I say."

Yajirobe had dealt with all kinds of creatures, both in and out of combat. Even immortals. Therefore, the samurai had learned to become a semi-decent judge of character. His life had sometimes depended on this. So... The samurai wasn't psychic and couldn't tell everything at a glance but just by looking at the two kids... Without even being able to detect them since the witch was still the most detectable thing... These two, they probably had opposite fighting styles. The girl appeared to be some kind of fanatic. She might be dangerous in a fight simply because she was likely to be highly unpredictable. But the boy, he would be dangerous because he was thinking three moves ahead. Just the way the kid carried himself - you could tell. He was trying to set a trap. A fight hadn't even started but this boy was already trying to control the direction of the battle. Trying to predict what his opponents would do next. And this boy - he had patience. As far as Yajirobe knew, that was rare for a kid. Heck, even among adults having patience was sometimes kind of rare. Most warriors - if they were annoyed and wanted to fight with you, they just attacked. But this boy had spoken, had issued his challenge and was now standing there, waiting for them to react. Almost daring them to attack.

_Hmph. When the gods are testing someone, they don't take half measures - do they? _observed Musashi.

"Is it that obvious?" muttered Yajirobe.

_Yes. _Musashi nodded. Why swordsmen, who are called swordsmen because they choose to arm themselves with very sharp objects, are so talented at being blunt with words remains a mystery. _Still. Count your blessings._

Yajirobe blinked. The remark just seemed out of place. What was there to be grateful for? He was dead. He wasn't particularly enjoying death, either. The ghost of a legend had defeated him with the oar of a row boat several times. A little girl had taken a divine sword from him. A little boy had been impolite. Both of these kids might be part immortal and so they had the potential to be hazardous, even though they probably didn't have a lot power and were already dead. And yet the most upsetting thing... The whole reason that Yajirobe was currently dead... He'd been sent to the afterlife with a mission. He was supposed to be helping Kami. He was supposed to be trying to encourage peace between a dragon and a witch, somehow. Musashi was an absolute legend and so Yajirobe wasn't too upset about being defeated by a legend but... The witch. The dragon. Kami. They were all legends, too.

If he couldn't defeat Musashi then how could he even pretend that he had any sort of chance against the witch? If a couple of kids could disarm him... And so what if they were not ordinary kids, so what if they'd had the element of surprise...

Suddenly, Yajirobe did not want the sword back. He really and incredibly sincerely wanted absolutely nothing to do with The No Ken. Because he was having a moment of clarity and it was not pretty. Yajirobe had trained as a warrior for most of his life. He'd been in a war. He'd survived more fighting than he cared to remember. He knew - had always known, had seen the evidence - about weapons. He respected weapons. He was cautious. He'd had to be. Even ordinary weapons could hurt you if you weren't careful when you were training with them. Or against them. And... There had been one lesson in particular... His teachers first and then his enemies and even some of his allies, they had always been there to remind him... That you had to choose your weapons with care. Because any weapon that you took with you, it could be taken from you. It could be used against you.

With this realization... NOW Musashis remark about counting blessings made sense. Because okay - being disarmed by a little girl was kind of an embarrassing insult. But what if Musashi had been the one to take the sword? What if the witch...? And as horrible and chilling as it was to even try to imagine those consequences... What about Korin? Yajirobe still had goals. He still wanted to return to life, for the most part. He still expected to be able to challenge the Immortal Tiger someday. Korin knew that. Korin had accepted that. Korin was perhaps even looking forward to their battle, when and if it should ever take place. And Korin had gifted him with the sword.

And so the real horror for Yajirobe was, if censored, along the lines of: _I can NOT believe that I was stupid enough to let that guy give me a divine sword! Because I KNOW... I KNOW Korin well enough to know that when and if we fight... He will not be armed. And he knows me well enough to know that I WILL be armed. So... Did he really want me to learn how to use this blade? Or was he just letting me hold on to it for awhile, so that he could steal the sword and use it against me when the time came?_

"Ignoring us is an interesting tactic but it doesn't meant that we will go away." said Proto9A.

_Are you a swordsman as well?_ Musashi wondered, taken aback by the boys bluntness.

Despite the fact that the boy was acting calm and unaffected, he was a kid. And he had been raised in underground tunnels. There were things he didn't know. There were things he didn't understand. The genetic children had learned about weapons mostly by defending themselves from prototype androids. Gunmen, Proto9A knew, were men who fought by using guns. Swordsmen were men who fought by using swords. Proto9A had always kind of mentally paused and wondered about that. Tried to imagine. What if a robot had actually been made out of swords? Would that still count as a swordsman? And what if a creature used more than one type of weapon? What did that make them then? Did you combine all their titles or was there a different title or were they just warriors, then? And which sort of warrior was really the more skilled - the warrior who focused on just one type of weapon or the warrior who could use anything?

Since Proto9A had been, prior to his death in the dark mist, the only surviving male of the genetic children... The genetic children had all shared a room. Turning inward had been about the only way to have any privacy. So Proto9A had spent a lot of time thinking deeply. Especially when he'd wanted to ignore all of his sisters. He had always felt kind of concerned about the ethics of battle and how androids fit into the scheme of things. He wasn't really sure why. But the robots could use so many different types of weapons... And down in the tunnels, during the experiments, the robots with all their weapons had usually lost. To the genetic children. Who hadn't been allowed to use weapons. So Proto9A was skeptical about the value of weapons. He'd never seen weapons provide more than a temporary advantage. He didn't think that weapons improved or implied fighting skill. But... He also hadn't ever seen a real sword before.

And he'd never been asked if he was a swordsman, either. Not even half jokingly.

"I don't know. I've never tried." Proto9A shrugged. He flicked his furry white tail and glanced down at the blade that his sister was continuing to adore then returned his stare to the adults and made a decision. "Teach me."

**ooxoo**

**L**ord Enmas office had many doors. The main door - the most imposing - was the entrance, the gateway to judgement. All souls came in under that gate as they arrived. However after judgement had been passed... While there was only one way for mortal souls to enter Lord Enmas office, there were many ways for them to leave. And once you went through a door... From inside the office, the doors appeared to be always open. But once you stepped into the afterlife, if you turned and looked back... The doorway was gone. The decision seemed irreversible.

Tenshinhan was not sure that he wanted to remain dead anymore but he was also not sure how he could return to life. Losing sight of the office made death seem more permanent. The way back to life was unclear. Chaozu might be the only living mortal who knew that Tenshinhan was dead and Tenshinhan had told his friend not to wish him back. So it was hard to feel optimistic on the subject. Given Tenshinhans less than positive previous experience with reincarnation and his current dilemma, it was a challenge to feel optimistic at all. Yet as much as Tenshinhan might have liked to remain in one place and dwell on the situation, he couldn't. Entering this part of the afterlife had been like stepping onto a conveyer belt. The vast cloudscape was moving. And the witch was still the most detectable thing.

The clouds were all flowing in the same direction and with speed but visible among the rush were scattered areas of stillness. Protrusions. Obstacles. If the view had been of a river on Earth then the word 'sandbar' might have been appropriate but this was the afterlife. Tenshinhan knew that he couldn't be looking at a long chain of broken rock formations in the sky. The shapes were distorted and the constant rush of clouds were masking the distances and no particular energy was detectable from the formations but... Tenshinhan trusted his instincts. He could not immediately articulate what was wrong. He decided that rock formations had been a bad comparison. What he was seeing... If a massive spaceship began to fall apart while traveling and left a trail of disjointed mechanical debree in its wake... No. That didn't seem like quite the right comparison either. He couldn't think of the right comparison.

His attention eventually drifted. Tenshinhan guarded his mind, out of sheer habit but made no effort to conceal himself in any other way. Because the witch - she was out here, somewhere. Tenshinhan did not know exactly where and even if he had known, there was no sneaking up on the witch. There was no point in even trying. The witch was, in theory, mortal but she was also - tada - a witch. A spellcaster. Yes, her family tree was full of legendary martial artists and that was a valid concern because it likely meant that she was also a legendary martial artist in her own right. Yes, the witch was an accurate psychic and there was no doubt that fighting such a caliber of psychic could be expected to pose a challenge. Yes, she was short and height was a factor because it meant that overall there would be less of her to aim at. But the main thing, the real hazard... Was the spellcasting.

Tenshinhan was not immune to magic. He could detect the energy of a spell and perhaps try to avoid it but the basic prospect made him nervous. The whole problem with magic... Well. One of the problems with magic... Aside from the fact that it was magic, of course... Was range. Distance. Martial arts generally required getting close to your opponent in order to attack. Even energy blasts often had to be guided. A warrior had to be able to see - or hear or feel or smell or otherwise detect - the target which they were aiming at. Meanwhile a spellcaster... If they had enough skill... Might not even have to be on the same continent as their target and probably wouldn't even have to take aim.

How were you supposed to defend yourself from something like that?

You weren't. In fact, you probably shouldn't. Because one of the other serious problems with magic was stability. Energy attacks were absolutely reliable by comparision. If you threw an energy blast then it stayed an energy blast right up until it exploded. You could block or dodge or counter an energy blast without being in serious danger of changing species, among other things. This was a simple and profound beauty that the majority of warriors who were capable of energy combat took for granted.

Tenshinhan knew better than to take such things for granted.

He was not, technically, a spellcaster. He did not enjoy magic and he hadn't studied it very much but... Learning the Mafuba, developing Kikouhou... Tenshinhan couldn't have survived without a little bit of magic on his side. And especially after that truly horrible day, eleven years ago... As the numbness of shock had finally worn off enough to allow him to feel bewildered and betrayed and exhausted and wondering how to even begin to prepare for a rematch against Goku at the next World Tournament... Tenshinhan had reluctantly decided to risk some experiments. He had gone out of his way to develop a couple of special abilities that further blurred the already fragile lines between regular magic and legendary martial arts. This was old news, nowadays. The other defenders of Earth all knew that Tenshin could sprout an extra set of arms when he wanted to. They knew that Tenshin could split himself into multiple bodies. He'd used those skills in the past, during tournaments. Not since. In retrospect, it was mildly surprising that he hadn't been disqualified from the tournaments just for using those abilities. Still. Growing an extra set of arms... Dividing the lifeforce in order to create extra copies... The concepts had been interesting to play with but not very practical in combat. Because the energy was so delicate and brittle... And the risk of strange and possibily lethal side effects was so high...

Tenshinhan had always been competitive. Then again, for a professional assassin, not being competitive usually meant being dead.

Strange how old habits lingered.

The cloudscape continued to flow past. The witchs energy seemed to fill the afterlife and radiate from every direction, it was impossible to guess at her exact location. It was impossible to detect anyone else. And despite the knowledge that there had to be some kind of an epic battle going on out here somewhere... The scenary was peaceful and repetitive.

In an attempt to stay alert, Tenshinhan choose to focus more deeply inward. Because he didn't want to even try and have expectations for what the battle ahead might look like. He didn't want to even try to guess what kind of condition the other warriors might be in by now. The samurai, the dragon, the guardian... Tenshinhan hoped that they were together. He hoped that when he found the fighting, they would all be there. That was why he was looking for the fight. If he found the fight then the others should be there, that's what he hoped. And when he arrived at the battle and saw the situation, THAT was when he'd start trying to figure out what to do. Not before. True, planning ahead was typically a smart habit - but not against a spellcaster. Spells could change even as they were cast and if two spells collided, they wouldn't necessarily cancel each other out. Thus there was no sense in wasting energy on trying to anticipate what might lie ahead. He thought about other things.

Death... Tenshinhan wasn't quite sure what to make of his experience thus far. Tao, his former teacher, had materialized and had a conversation with him and then departed. Was Tao still out here? _How did he find me?_ It had been as if Tao had known, as if the ghost had been waiting... How was that even possible? While alive Tao Pai Pai had been known as the Worlds Greatest Assassin, the inventor of Dodonpa and a near-official legendary martial arts master but he'd never been adept at detecting energy. Had Tao improved on that skill after dying? Or was there a simpler explanation for how the soul had found him? Had someone given Tao directions? Who? Tenshinhan didn't like to speculate. If the visit from Tao hadn't been so vivid then Tenshinhan might have been willing to write the whole encounter off as an illusion by now.

Speaking of possible illusions, Meiji had always been strange. And during her visit, between hugs, she had casually mentioned that her soul now resided on Snakes Way. Meiji was the soul of a former empire. A place that didn't exist anymore. How could the soul of a place that didn't exist anymore live somewhere else? The soul of a city couldn't just get up and move out to the country one day, right? So the soul of a place... Even a destroyed place... How...?

And then there had been Master Mutaito. A true visionary. A respected legend. A warrior whose works Tenshinhan had studied as diligently as he'd been able to but whom he'd never expected to meet, much less get advice from. It was just a smidge overwhelming. And now that Tenshinhan could step back from that conversation and replay it in his mind...

On his first visit to the afterlife, Tenshinhan had taken less than a year to develop the perfect forms for all of Piccolos techniques. Yet when it came to his own inventions, Tenshinhan was willing to take a lifetime and then some if need be. Because Tenshinhan didn't necessarily want for his attacks to be easily understood or learned in five minutes by anyone who was watching. Because, Tenshinhan felt, the world would probably not be a better place to live in if everyone living there knew energy attacks. Such valuable and dangerous knowledge had to be guarded. Earned. Not just handed out to anyone.

But... Master Mutaito... In life, it had been Mutaitos reputation to try and teach anyone or anything that was willing to listen. And even in death the old master had been happy to offer, without hesitation, plenty of ideas and advice for new energy attacks.

Hrm. Would any of Mutaitos suggestions for new techniques actually work against the witch? She had to have a weakness. Didn't she? Yes. Right? But... That was a dangerous thought. And this was hardly the time to be experimenting. And why would her own husband...?

Tenshinhan had spent his life unattached. He did not regret this. He'd never had much time or interest to spare for anything beyond his work and his training. Plus... While he was not an expert on the subject of marriage... Tenshinhan was aware that most traditional wedding vows included the phrase 'until death do we part' because, as an assassin, a significant portion of his clients had been people who were willing to pay large sums of money in order to speed up that specific process. So yes, that had sort of influenced his outlook. And yes, as well, this meant that Tenshinhan had taken note of the fact that Master Mutaitos soul was still wearing a wedding ring. And while speaking about energy techniques had been the favorite topic of their discussions, the subject of family had also come up rather a lot.

Master Mutaito had, without mentioning names, made it clear that the witch was his wife. Mutaito had made it clear that he still loved her. Death had not parted this couple. Was having the support of such a relationship part of becoming stronger? This wasn't a concept that Tenshinhan was interested in dwelling on. There had to be more than one path to power. And more than one answer, to any problem.

Back on the subject of energy techniques... Tenshinhan was still upset that two monsters that he'd never even gotten the chance to meet - much less fight - had somehow used variations on the best energy attacks he knew. Freezia with the Perfectly Evil Fingertip Blast. Garlic Junior with the modified Mafuba. But Tenshinhan was actually more...offended... And had been for some years now... By the sheer rate at which certain other warriors were developing new moves. For example: Kuririn was under the age of thirty and hadn't even started working with energy attacks before the age of thirteen. So in the space of less than ten years - in under a quarter of the time that it had taken Roshi to invent just the Kamehameha - Kuririn had completely revoluntionized energy combat as a whole. On the one hand, that was admirable. On the other hand, that was frustrating.

Was it a case of quantity over quality, as well? Piccolo was, by Earth calendars, only eleven years old and already had more than seven techniques to his credit. What had happened to energy attacks taking hundreds of years to develop or at least half a century to perfect?

And then there was the whole issue of Gohan. Think about this: Goku, the current Champion of Earth, had apparently not used energy attacks before the age of twelve. But Gohan had invented his own technique by the age of four. Okay, so the boy had been under some stress at the time and probably hadn't really comprehended what he was doing. Nevertheless, Gohan had channeled his anger into his hands and created a blast. It was insane. And so was the boys power level. During their training at the Lookout, the other defenders of the planet had frequently speculated that the boy might have far more power than he'd ever need to use in combat - but the fact remained that Gohan _was already _using more power than anyone else on the planet ever had at such an age, his father included. And even though Gohan was known to be a pacifist... The kid kept getting stronger. By all accounts Gohan had learned everything that Piccolo, Kuririn and the experience of fighting against hostile aliens had been willing to teach him in the space of about a year and a half. The boy was under the age of ten and flying. He was under the age of ten and inventing attacks. Only one, so far but... By the time Gohan WAS age ten, who knew what the kid might be capable of. How was anyone supposed to compete with that? What might happen, if Gohan ever turned against them?

Not that Tenshin truly expected for Gohan to ever go evil on them but... Stranger things had happened. Accident or not, Tenshinhan had killed an entire empire once. He'd survived a revolution. He had survived his teachers. He'd survived having a skilled psychic for a best friend. He'd noticed his psychic best friend trying to work out new attacks and had decided that this meant the future might require him to come up with some inventions as well.

He had been working on new attacks for longer than he'd known Goku.

Deep down Tenshinhan recognized that he had been hoping to save his new attacks, possibly for the next World Tournament. He hadn't been thinking of saving the world when he'd started on these. His intentions hadn't always been that noble.

His training and his own particular fighting style had always placed heavy emphasis on discipline, even more than strength and speed. Having a competent level of patience and endurance had been helpful. Having a talent for aim was a wonderful gift but... Tenshinhans energy attacks had regularly shown that he was willing to take risks with his own health in order to do greater harm to his opponent. Tenshinhan was able to detect energy. He knew that he couldn't match some of the other warriors in terms of power or speed but... Perhaps he could match them in discipline, instead. If he committed to a battle, if he chose to participate at all... Then he was always willing to risk just as much as anyone else was - and sometimes more.

Often, more.

This was one of the many points that Tenshinhan had constantly disagreed on with The Crane Master. The grouchy old man had given many lectures about how foolish it was to put everything into one attack. But the Crane Master had never been all that skilled in energy combat and had certainly never understood the concepts that Tenshinhan had been working with. And while it was true that The Crane Master had been his first formal martial arts teacher... The soldiers who had raised Tenshinhan... The people that he'd grown up around... Had taught him that holding back in combat was an insult. A sign of disrespect. And so if you were willing to put your life on the line - then why hold back?

If you were already dead... Why hold back?

"That," said a rather smug voice, "is not a good question."

A strange gleam through the foggy cloudscape. A shape in the middle distance, small and dark.

The witch. There she was. Just like that. Standing on her crystal ball. Hovering above one of the still places as the clouds rippled by. And even though she was short, even though the wide brim of her pointy hat obscured her expression... Her whole posture made it very clear that the only reason she was visible was because she wanted to be. And since she did want to be visible at the moment, she was holding back. She was allowing the triclops to percieve her without letting her aura induce a crippling migraine. Yet magical considerations aside, she was still not very visible. Because she was wearing black. Out here, against the darkness of space, the witch blended in rather well. Searching for her might have been on par with searching for Chaozu during a blizzard. While blindfolded. And without ki detection. Only... The thing about the witch - and it was something that Tenshinhan had already noticed but now it resonated in his soul with distressing levels of urgency - was that she was wearing black.

Read that again.

Think about it.

"Fortunately, I can answer any questions that you may have." Madame Uranai Baba made a show of yawning although neither her voice nor her energy conveyed the idea of being tired. Or anxious. No. The witch seemed...bored? Hrm. Had she already seen the outcome of this situation? Or was she just pretending to be confident and bored? Was this some kind of trap? She didn't seem like the sort who would feign boredom but she DID seem like the type to set traps. And...

Black hat. Black robes. Why black? All right, so wearing dark clothes was good for hiding in the dark. But the witch... With her skills... She didn't need to hide! She didn't need to sneak! She had magic at her disposal! Real working magic! If she'd wanted to then she could have worn something so covered in lace, sequins and formal embroidery that even former emperors would have cringed. She could have worn polka dots and plaid, both at the same time. She could have worn a carved mask, a grass skirt and a fruit bowl on her head. Anything. Everything. And then some. She wasn't some petty thief! She couldn't be just another...

The witch smiled. She was capable of reading minds and she wasn't trying to look innocent. Her grin had an unpleasant edge which enabled the silence to imply that oh yes indeed, she was an assassin but oh no, she most certainly was not just another one.

Hence Tenshinhan suddenly realized that he was in fact dealing with an another member of his own profession. An assassin. A legendary, magical, psychic assassin. The shock barely had a chance to register. In hindsight, the conclusion was so obvious. This lady... She wore the black. She charged a fee for her services. She could get away with telling the truth, even if nobody wanted to hear it. There was no sneaking up on her. And she wasn't just a witch, she was THE witch. The one and only. There might have been other witches, once upon a time. There might have been wizards and sourcerers. Other mortal residents of Earth might have studied, dabbled or even practiced a little magic here and there in their own lives but anymore, nobody else from their planet seemed to make a full time career out of being any sort of magician. The witch was probably the main reason why. Maybe she didn't like competition. The closest thing that this lady had to competition was the immortals and they had been nervous around her even without her being at full power.

"And...?" The witch nodded encouragingly. Her expression was now obscured by the presence of a paper fan. The fan was covered in cryptic symbols. She held the fan close to her face - was she still grinning behind this cover? - and the symbols seemed to change with each flutter.

There was a moment of uncharactistic panic. It was mostly internal but it still happened. Tenshinhan was practiced at seeming calm even when he didn't feel calm - and he didn't feel calm. Under the circumstances, who could blame him? The afterlife had been weird and stressful enough already and things rapidly seemed to be on the way to getting worse. He did not have a plan of attack. He doubted that it was even safe to attack. Throwing an energy blast at spellcaster... The witch's energy was all over the afterlife. She didn't currently have a visible aura, not even to his eyes, but Tenshinhan could sense her power and he instinctively knew that the witch would be surrounded by layers of protective spells. An energy blast might just bounce off her, if it even hit. A regular physical attack... Or whatever the ghostly equivalent of a physical attack was... No. That wouldn't work either. Throwing a punch or kick at someone surrounded by magic would probably just cause loss of limbs or something worse. Using a weapon wouldn't be any better. The main goal here, Tenshinhan felt, was to avoid making contact with the spells.

And five hundred years... Because the witch was supposed to be more than five hundred years old, wasn't she? So at least five hundred years... That was an awful lot of time to practice. That was a very long life. Especially for an assassin. It was a dangerous business. Tenshinhan was considered old for an assassin and he was only thirty. He'd only been in the business for maybe half his life - and he'd taken breaks. He had tried to retire once or twice. But the witch - she was still alive. She was still in business. So the level of skill that was implied... It was intimidating.

Escape did not seem to be an option. Tenshinhan did not enjoy feeling trapped. He was here in the afterlife to try and help others - a decision that had taken some persuading - but none of those others seemed to be around right now. Speculation about what may have already happened to them was not helpful and also did not change the fact that he was here, facing the single most dangerous mortal that the Earth to had offer, on his own. Usually Tenshin did not mind fighting one-on-one but this situation was nowhere near usual. Plus, without much effort, he could list at least seven reasons for the witch to want him dead. And he was dead already but that probably wasn't going to protect him. There were, he knew, things worse than death. And if anyone was capable of doing those things... He was looking at her.

Tenshinhan was not fond of being talkative but he was starting to wonder if small talk and stalling might be good tactics. Because he really wasn't immune to magic. He didn't know what to say but perhaps it would be worth trying to negotiate with the witch. Maybe she would listen to reason. Just because they were both capable of violence, that shouldn't automatically mean that all the peaceful options were out of the question - right? Maybe he could apologize for...uh...everything? Studying magic. Being a student of the Crane Master.

The witch fluttered her fan.

Several racing thoughts collided. This did not immediately allow for clear understanding. But what was becoming rapidly clear... Was that certain details, which Tenshinhan should have noticed and maybe even had noticed before... And he was quite adept at noticing details so why hadn't he paid more attention...? Or had certain psychics not allowed him to fully realize...? Hrm. Maybe. Probably. And so what he'd once thought of as minor... Now... Tenshinhan started to rethink.

Tao Pai Pai, his former mentor. His best teacher. The Worlds Greatest Assassin. Initially Tao had been trained by his elder brother, the Crane Master. But Tao had surpassed the Crane Masters abilities at a fairly early age. So Tao had also looked elsewhere for guidance. Even here, in the afterlife, Tao had still been proud to claim that he had studied with the legendary Master Mutaito. Tenshinhan had heard the story many times. It wasn't something that had ever been open to questioning. But... The stories didn't match up. There was a gap. An eight year gap. It seemed so obvious, now. Tao had been just over 291 years old, when he died. If he had lived for eight years longer then he could have become Kaeru-sennin, the Frog Master. But... If instead Tao had been born eight years earlier... Then he could have met Mutaito. Because Master Mutaito had - by his own account - died three hundred years ago. And Mutaito had died from using the Mafuba, the Evil Seal. So after dying his soul had been busy fighting a demon trapped inside a denshi jar. Thus it seemed safe to assume that Mutaito probably hadn't accepted any new students during that time.

Plus... Master Mutaito had earned many formal titles during his life but Worlds Greatest Assassin had not been one of them. So... Where had that title come from? Who could have really trained Tao?

It began to make sense. Who better to impersonate Mutaito than his own wife? What sweeter revenge than the opportunity to influence the younger brother of a sworn enemy? Had the witch been the one to give Tao the idea for becoming an assassin? Had she thought - or perhaps even hoped - that her student would eventually kill the Crane Master? But... She was an accurate psychic. She must have known in advance that Tao wouldn't betray his own kin. So...

"Why?" Tenshinhan didn't know what else to say. His understanding was improved but it wasn't anywhere near complete. The pieces didn't all fit together yet. If the witch had ever really wanted the Crane Master dead - why not just kill him? Why make the bargain? Why keep it? Why go to all the trouble of pretending to be someone else and then training...

Even more things clicked. Tenshinhan was not psychic but he understood what was happening. There was a psychic here. She was skilled. She was putting the ideas together and dropping them into his head. It was giving him a headache. He kind of resented this. He was intelligent - he felt that he could have worked all this out on his own, if given the chance. And he doubted that he had ever been given the chance. How long had certain things been blocked from his mind? Overall, even though he was capable of great patience, it was just sort of annoying to be treated this way. And so while there were an awful lot of thoughts that he was abruptly being made aware of... Right now, perhaps the top three most important concepts were: the witch, the witches family and the witches students.

First, the witch. She was dangerous and that was a polite understatement. Also, she was answering questions. Even without the questions being spoken. And the witch had a reputation for never answering questions without charging a fee and her fee had a reputation of its own. So every answer was going to have a price. It was going to be expensive. Tenshinhan did not like the idea of potentially being in any kind of debt but he was even less fond of trying to imagine what the witch might do, if he couldn't find a way to pay her. And finding a way to pay her... There wasn't, to the best of Tenshinhans awareness, any kind of money in the afterlife. Immortals generally had different ideas about what was valuable. The mythology that Tenshin had grown up around... In those stories... If immortals felt that they were owed something, they tended to demand various kinds of sacrifices. The witch was supposed to be mortal but what if she was planning to demand something more along those lines? She had the power to collect. Granted, Tenshinhan was the type of warrior who had once been willing to continue a fight after having an arm ripped off - but even he had to draw the line somewhere. Getting as far away as possible might be...well...impossible. But it remained a high priority. There had to be some way to...

He couldn't think of a way. There was too much else on his mind.

Second, the witches family. The witch - she was Roshis elder sister. Tenshinhan had heard about that one before. That wasn't news. But... She was Mutaitos wife. Tenshinhan had only more recently learned about that. He hadn't known about that, back when he'd been alive and on Earth. He hadn't known about that when he'd been attempting to prune the Mutaito family tree. Master Mutatio himself had taken that news with mixed feelings but the ghost had been too exhausted to dwell on it. Mutaito had cheerfully changed the subject. But the witch... So... She wasn't just a sister and a wife, she was a mother. And a grandmother. And... The Mutaito family tree - those were some of her kids and grandkids. Her nephews and nieces and cousins and everything else. Even though they had grown up and grown apart... Even though the witch was known to be independant, living by herself in the desert where she had her oasis... Did the witch still love her family? Did she look out for her relatives in various subtle ways? How could she be expected to feel about some guy with a crossbow taking aim at her descendants?

Maybe she wouldn't listen to reason.

But... Third, the witches students.

Tao Pai Pai had been, without ever truly knowing it, a student of the witch. This had the disturbing trickle down effect of meaning that - by extension - all of Taos own students... Tenshinhan flinched. The witch. He knew that she was called Madame Baba. He knew as well that the title wasn't her name. He didn't have any idea of what her real name might be but in light of what he'd been allowed to understand, he did suddenly know what he should be calling her. And he knew that she knew. And the expectant silence swirling around them hinted that she was waiting to hear the word.

Tenshinhan refused to say it. He tried not to even think it. Despite everything, he remained cautious. He wasn't going to acknowledge the witch as a teacher. Given his past record with teachers, this was not surprising. He had never fully trusted any of his previous teachers and saw no reason to change that habit. The witch might be married to Mutaito and the sister of Roshi and a friend to more immortals than anyone else on Earth... She might be - and might have always been - the true Worlds Greatest Assassin. But... Tenshinhan didn't think of himself as a student anymore. He still studied and practiced and trained but he felt that he'd earned his independance. He wasn't prepared to pledge loyalty to someone just because... Well. Just because. After all, he was dead anyway - right? Why give in to peer pressure now? Why change his ways in some stupid attempt to buy time that he didn't have?

If there were things worse than death then perhaps he should face them. Why not? It would be horrible, of course but so were the alternatives. Letting someone dangle threats over his head for the rest of his life. Or afterlife. Or whatever. That would not be a fun way to exist. Tenshinhan had come to the afterlife prepared to rest in peace once and for all. He had been given reasons to want to return to life since then but he still wasn't afraid of death. And whatever was going to happen next... If it was magic then he probably couldn't escape. And there probably wouldn't be much of a chance to defend. Because the witch was, on top of all her other noteworthy and formidable skills, an assassin. And when a skilled assassin was working, they had victims. Not opponents.

So whatever was going to happen next... The witch was psychic. She knew. Tenshinhan didn't know but had reached a point where he was resigned to it. He just wanted to get this over with.

The witch did still seem to be grinning. "As you wish." She snapped her paper fan shut and faded into the darkness.

The cloudscape changed direction. It began to occur to Tenshinhan that what he had initially regarded as a long chain of broken rock formations... Now he understood what had bothered him about those. What he hadn't been able to articulate earlier. It wasn't a long chain of broken rock formations. It was a dragon.

**ooxoo**

**"K**id..." Yajirobe was struggling to keep his composure. He had just barely managed to avoid falling over in surprise. "You've got to be kidding!" He paused for a moment after hearing himself actually say this, made a face at the wording and blamed the afterlife for getting on his nerves.

"What, you can't teach me?" Proto9A was not a tall child but he was standing - floating - on tiptoe in order to seem slightly more defiant. His tone remained calm and mildly disappointed even while his posture seemed kind of hostile. "You only had to say so. It's no big deal. We'll just take this sword and go ask someone else, then. C'mon Twoay..."

"...huh?" Proto2A finally blinked and seemed to become more aware of her surroundings. She stared blankly at the adult ghosts, stared questioningly at her genetic brother, looked out at the vast peaceful redundant cloudscape... And none of this was very sharp or shiny. So it couldn't hold her interest. She returned to being fascinated by the sword.

Musashi leaned on his oar. _We've been snubbed._

"New experience?" Yajirobe raised a hand and pushed his ghostly hair out of his eyes then spoke towards the legend with more respect. "Look, I know the gods are testing me. It's been that way for awhile. Story of my life. But can you think of any reason why they might be testing you as well? I just want to check." The samurai raised his volume as he returned his attention to the kids. "And as for YOU..." He pointed at 9A. Then he hesitated and tried to think of better wording. Yajirobe sighed. He changed his tone to something a bit more considerate. "Hate to have to tell you this but you are dead. Okay? Do you understand what that means?" He waited for the boy to nod before continuing. "All right then. So... Since you are dead, it's not a matter of IF we could train you. We could. But even if either of us did agree to train you... What would be the point? Do you - "

"You're dead." interrupted 9A, folding his arms. "And you're training. We saw you."

"Well, yes." Yajirobe conceded. "But that's different! I've been training for my whole life and - "

Proto9A interrupted again. "Same here."

Yajirobe glared. The kid was offending him. Had this boy not learned any manners? Was he just acting tough? Trying to lure them into an attack again? Or was the kid really just that confident? If this boy was related, even a tiny bit, to Korin... That might explain a lot but... It didn't excuse... Yajirobe took a breath, decided that this was a weird habit to have while dead, was glad that he had it anyway and let the anger go. The kid was rude but he had made some valid points. Arguing about things like the need to show some respect for your elders wouldn't change that.

"Fine." It was the samurai's turn to shrug. He did so and then paced across the clouds, circling the children. Possibly trying to get closer to the sword. Maybe he could reach it... Yajirobe was not one hundred percent certain that he wanted to claim the divine katana anymore. However he wasn't comfortable with the idea of leaving such a dangerous weapon in the wrong hands, either. "Okay. Glad we're clear on that. So - you've trained all for your life and you know that you're dead and you still want to train. Correct? Did I miss anything?"

Musashi had remained calm. _Why?_

"Exactly! That's what we're missing!" Yajirobe agreed. He paused in front of the children. "WHY do you still want to train?"

Proto9A frowned. "What are your reasons?"

The samurai blinked. He forced a smile brimming with false cheer, leaned down towards the boy and almost growled. "That. Is. NONE. Of. Your. Business." He snatched the divine sword out of the girls hands, flourished the blade in a threatening way and stepped back. "If you don't have your own reasons then you don't need to train!" And with that, as far as Yajirobe was concerned, the conversation was over. He wasn't interesting in fighting these kids but he wasn't going to put up with all this disrespect and...

Proto2A had become a screaming blur. She was chasing the sword. "MINE!"

Yajirobe reacted on pure impulse - reflex before thought. Proto9A shouted a warning. Musashi stepped forward and twirled his oar gracefully.

_Careful._

A short moment seemed to last for a very long time. Yajirobe looked at the blade. How could such a plain looking sword have...? Even with the oar blocking... Musashi had redirected the bulk of the blow but... If these had been living children... Then one of them would be dead, now. And that wasn't something that Yajirobe had really intended, it was just reflex and... And... The fact that these kids had been dead to begin with didn't really make him feel any better about the situation because the sword had clearly still managed to hurt the girl. And... He didn't want to think about it. He didn't want to remember. He tried very hard not to remember.

There were some memories even worse than the war.

The samurai closed his eyes, released the blade and hastily stepped away from it. Granted, the divine blade might be dangerous in the wrong hands but maybe his own hands weren't the right ones. Who was he to decide? In this instant, Yajirobe didn't care. He was done.

With his back to the sword, Yajirobe paused and managed a respectful bow towards the legend. He wanted to express gratitude, perhaps offer a few words of thanks for the training and a polite excuse about really needing to be elsewhere but the words did not form. He couldn't find the words. Certain memories, when triggered, had this effect on him. He just didn't trust himself to speak at the moment. But he made the effort, offered some pained expressions, shakily bowed again and then began to walk away. Across the clouds.

Musashi sighed. This was too easy - and that's what made it so hard. Musashi was an absolute legend. He had never been defeated in a duel. He didn't need unfair advantages. He didn't need a divine sword. He'd rarely needed a sword at all. He certainly didn't need a target who was unarmed, walking away, head down, back exposed... This wasn't honorable! But... If Musashi didn't act... Then the kid, the ghostly little boy with the furry white tail, would. The kid was currently shocked, confused and grieving but any second now all that would turn to anger. You could see it brewing. And allowing this kid to strike... That was maybe even less honorable, somehow. Because the kid would be acting for the wrong reasons. And the kid probably didn't have any skill, not with a blade. Definitely not with THIS blade. And the job required precision. So... Musashi... If he did this... He would just be keeping a promise that he'd made a long time ago.

_You were right. _Musashi pushed the oar into Proto9A arms and, using both hands, gingerly lifted the divine katana out of the clouds. He would make this quick. _We are all being tested._

Swish.

**ooxoo**

**T**he body of the dragon lay in the clouds like a whale half turned onto its side in shallow waters. What stuck out above the clouds were a few bumps of scaled hide, the tips of talons, the ridge of a long snout - only the barest hints of what lay beneath.

Was this Shenlong?

The dragon certainly seemed familiar but Tenshinhan couldn't be a hundred percent sure. He had only actually seen the eternal dragon of Earth twice now. Once, when Shenlong had been summoned by Daimio and again, after Daimios defeat. Tenshinhan knew that the Earth set of dragonballs had been used since then but he hadn't been present on those occasions. Still. He remembered how the dragon had looked because seeing the dragon had been an unexpected memorable experience. So he knew that when summoned with the dragonballs, Shenlong appeared almost transparent. Shenlong could fill the sky from horizon to horizon and that was without his hind legs and or his tail being visible. The holy dragon typically radiated a bored but peaceful presence as he looked down on mortals with glowing red eyes and patiently waited to hear what their wish would be.

Yet as impressive as the dragon had been when summoned... Here in the afterlife... This dragon was bigger. Brighter. More solid. More complete. And, currently, damaged.

Wait. Damaged? How was that possible? Or had it always been possible? Eleven years ago, Tenshinhan had seen the demon Piccolo Daimio attack Shenlong. Had Shenlong truly died? Or had the dragon only retreated? Either way, the dragon had withdrawn from the fight. But even then... Even if Shenlong HAD somehow been hurt by Daimios simple blast... The dragon had not looked hurt. Which had seemed logical, really. Why call something eternal if it was so vulnerable? If the dragon was even going to have a chance at being any sort of eternal then it had to have some defenses. No, it couldn't be easy to hurt the dragon. The body... The dragons body was covered in a natural armor. Deep green scales on top and leathery yellow skin on the underside. No wings. Wings would have been too easy of a target. Even without wings, the weak points were still obvious but they would require more force and precision to hit and that sort thing might only work if the dragon wasn't wrapped in protective spells of its own.

There did not appear to be any protective spells around this dragon, now.

The dragon beneath the clouds was scruffy and motionless. The mane was burnt and tangled, the mouth hung open, the eyes were empty and one of the nearby talons appeared to be crumbling. Gaping wounds and a few patches of missing scales highlighted the battered curves of the twisted serpentine body.

Rather than dwell on the sheer amount of damage that had been done or the fact that a very specific small elderly lady must have been the one to do it, Tenshinhan tried to focus his concentration elsewhere. If this was Shenlong then were was Kami? The Guardian was nowhere in sight. If this was Shenlong then why couldn't he detect anyone but the witch? Shouldn't the dragon be detectable? If this was Shenlong... As a professional assassin, Tenshinhan knew the signs of life and was also skilled in recognizing the signs of death. He could tell the difference, in most creatures. But he honestly didn't know that many dragons and wasn't sure where to even begin. Should he be alarmed if the dragon did not appear to be breathing? Had Shenlong ever actually needed to breathe? That didn't seem right. Shenlong was not a permanent resident of Earth. The dragon only came to Earth when summoned. Between wishes... Apparently... The dragon existed here. In the afterlife.

It was impossible not to try and envision, for a few fleeting moments, what the dragons existance might be like. This huge beast, minding its own business - and then it gets summoned to grant a wish. If Shenlong only spent a few minutes on Earth per year... What did the dragon do with itself between wishes? What sort of life did the residents of Earth interrupt, when they called the dragon? Imagine. The dragon sitting down to a meal or curling up to take a nap or in the middle of a conversation with a friend or about to read the last page of a book - and then poof. Sorry, that will have to wait. Your personal life isn't as important as granting wishes for these mortals over here.

Tenshinhan shook his head. Being around Meiji again had definitely put some strange thoughts into his mind. Meiji generally had that kind of effect of people. Because people were not in the habit of thinking about the soul of an empire as having a life of its own. But once you did... Dragons being rudely interrupted at inopportune moments was not a stretch. And the dragonballs could be used once a year. Shenlong had to know that. Did the dragon sit around dreading the moment when he would be summoned? Or did the dragon look forward to the artifacts being used? Did the dragon ever hover in front of a mirror, practicing what he was going to say to anyone seeking to have their wishes granted? It was too strange to contemplate.

Maybe the dragon was only unconscious? Maybe the dragon could be woken up? How did you wake a dragon up? How did you go about getting a dragons attention? The creature was so large... Tenshinhan did not truly want to kill the dragon. He had the feeling that he was going to need the dragons help and in more ways than one. To get back to life, to locate Kami, to defeat the witch... Or at least get the witch to call a truce. But Tenshinhan wasn't sure how much force it would take, to try and gain the attention of such a creature and he really did not expect the dragon to react well to being attacked. So he had to also consider killing the dragon because he might need to, out of pure self-defense.

He was a ghost. Tenshinhan wasn't sure how long he'd been a ghost. He had lost count of the days. But he was, he noticed, still thinking in the terms of a live person. He reconsidered. Did a ghost actually need self-defense? What could hurt him? He was already dead. Problem was, he'd been dead once before. Tenshinhan reminded himself that he knew the risks. Ghosts still had minds so they were not protected from psychics. And ghosts WERE energy so they could be hurt by energy attacks, as well as spells.

And... Did Shenlong count as an immortal? Or was the dragon just bound to an immortal?

Eleven years ago... Tenshinhan could not forget. The dragonballs had turned to stone. But the artifacts had been repaired later, after Daimios defeat. So... What did that mean? Could Kami survive even if Shenlong died? But Kami was bound to Piccolo as well and if Piccolo died then Kami also died. And if Shenlong was in such rough condition... Tenshinhan was not particularly fond of Piccolo and he had mixed feelings about Kamis existance but he was not in any hurry to be responsible for their deaths, either. If he dared to attack the dragon then would the Nameks also feel the attack? If Kami shared any of Shenlongs pain... And if Piccolo shared any of Kamis pain... How much could they tolerate? Tenshinhan was wary. Because energy attacks would drain him and the witch was still detectable. Where was she hiding now? What if the witch attacked?

As if on cue, a few ominous flickers of light spread through the cloudscape and touched the dragon. Cryptic symbols crawled along the dragons scales, an unnatural glow filtered into the dragons empty eyes and the huge body began to move. With a hissing roar, the dragon lunged. Snarling and diving and spitting. Angrily but ineffectively snapping at clouds and stars. A massive coiled hurricane of scales and claws with glowing slanted eyes.

Cursing, Tenshinhan managed to get out of the dragons immediate range. He was upset. Being caught off guard was not professional and the situation overall was not good. Yet honestly after having been confronted by the witch, Tenshinhan found that he couldn't feel too panicked about facing a dragon. Given a choice between the two... It wasn't much of a choice but Tenshinan knew that he probably would have chosen the dragon. He wondered if the witch knew that. He suspected that she probably did. However the raging dragon was clearly not itself. That was a problem. If Tenshin was going to try to reason with the creature, it had to be itself. So... If this was magic, how to break the spell? If this was a sample of what the witch could do... Then would hitting the dragon hard enough perhaps also injure the witch? Hrm. Spells did sometimes work that way. It was worth a try. He didn't know what else to try. But how to proceed? Tenshinhan had made it to the afterlife with his cloak so he had a hidden arsenal of weapons at his disposal. Unfortunately the weapons were all ghostly here, as if only imagined. They would probably not be able to do much damage to anything that was solid and certainly would not be able to do much damage to something of Shenlongs size. The principles and concepts of basic martial arts were sound but they had never addressed having a dragon as your opponent. Kicking or punching a dragon didn't seem like a plausible plan for victory. Energy attacks really did seem like about the only things that might have a chance. It would be risky but with energy attacks, he could at least take aim from a distance and...

Dodonpa could work but then again it might just be reflected off the dragons scales. Kikouhou should be strong enough to cause some harm but would it be enough by itself? Tenshinhan knew about other energy attacks. The ones that had been invented by Roshi and Goku and Kuririn and Yamucha and Piccolo. Even the attack invented by Gohan. Even the attacks invented by Vegeta and Nappa and Freezia and Garlic Junior and others. Because the attacks that he hadn't seen, he'd read about. He had studied the technical paperwork documenting these moves. And so Tenshinhan probably could have used nearly any of those other attacks - but he didn't. He disliked taking ideas from other peoples styles. He had his own style, after all. And besides, with the exception of Roshi and Garlic Junior... All these other attacks... As far as anyone knew... They had been developed so quickly. They were probably flawed.

His own inventions... The techniques that he'd been working on for more than half his life already... The techniques that he'd chosen not to use around the other warriors, not even when the world had been at stake... Tenshinhan considered himself a craftsman. He was reluctant to use an attack before he was finished developing it. Still. While he didn't know how well his attacks might work in this situation, he did at least trust them to work. And his own attacks might have flaws but at least he knew what those flaws were. Some of the flaws were deliberate. Some of the flaws were the whole point.

And all of Master Mutaitos suggestions for new attacks... Were starting to make more sense, now.

Tenshinhan powered up.

**ooxoo**

**R**anshin became aware, first, of an indistinct noise. Then she became aware of the fact that she was aware of the noise. Groggy and disoriented, she started to grasp that she was conscious. This did not make her feel any better. If she had just been psychic or just been a triclops then it might not have been so bad. But being both of those things meant having extra spiritual awareness and having extra spiritual awareness in a purely spiritual place was overwhelming. Being conscious, if anything, improved her sensitivity. So she couldn't even wonder about how or why she'd managed to become conscious in the first place. She didn't get to realize that just being able to be conscious at all in this location was a step forward in her training. No. Ranshin was in pain. She whimpered, curled up in a fetal position and clutched at her head. There was a lot of information flooding her soul, too much for her to make sense of. She didn't have a clear understanding of where she was or what had happened. She kind of vaguely remembered something about swords and snow and... Ranshin squinted, trying to hang on to that thought and ignore everything else. She wanted to focus on something other than the pain.

As she lay there, trying to remember and clutching at her head... One of her arms went through her skull.

Ranshin did not notice right away. Even when she did notice, it took her a little while to react. Sticking her arm through her head had not been intentional. Nor had it hurt. She was in pain but not from this. That was weird. She withdrew her arm and squinted at it. Her vision was wobbly due to the information overload but after a few attempts, Ranshin understood that she was transparent. A ghost. And... She was losing her shape.

She was five. She was dead. She hadn't been alive for long, all things considered. Her soul was already forgetting what life was like.

Ranshin tried to decide if this should upset her.

The indistinct noise persisted. It seemed to have a pattern. Ranshin made an effort to listen. Gradually the noise started to irritate her. What was that sound? Where was it coming from? How was she even hearing it? She was dead, wasn't she? This wasn't Earth anymore. So what could be...

With the sound as her focal point, her thoughts gathered. As her mind cleared so did her shape. Ranshin became less cloudy, more humanoid again. Her concentration improved which meant that she was better able to ignore the pain. Her reaction time improved. Fear struck. If she was dead, if this was not Earth... Then did she really want to know where the sound was coming from? What if it was some kind of supernatural monster? What if..?! ... Hey... Wait... Now that she was more coherant, Ranshin listened again. That sound... It sounded like... Snoring?

**ooxoo**

**M**adame Uranai Baba was sitting on her crystal ball. Her paper fan was tucked into her hat. The witch was taking a break. This was rare. She hadn't taken a break in centuries. People were always wanting her advice and the gods needed to be kept in line and she enjoyed her work - all of her work - so she didn't usually take breaks. She didn't need breaks. Breaks were not profitable. But... Eh. She was overdue. And she was in a good mood. Madame Baba felt refreshed. She had gotten all of her powers back. She had gotten caught up on three hundred years worth of revenge. So Madame Baba was celebrating, in her own way, by allowing herself a break. She was having a cup of tea. Round little ghosts hovered nearby with trays of snacks.

She admired the cloudscape. This part of the afterlife was serene. Somewhere off the distance awful things were happening to the souls of certain stubborn warriors - but that wasn't her problem. And besides, you had to let some things happen. It was important to remember that. Madame Baba had learned the lesson more than once. A long time ago. The hard way. The advice had eventually served her well in her all of her pursuits, professional and personal. Sure, she might protect her family when absolutely needed but she wasn't going to prevent them from suffering. People had to be allowed to make their own decisions. Without challenges, how could people be expected to grow? Without tests, how could students be expected to learn?

The bargain with the Crane Master... Nobody could have forced her to keep that bargain. Even with her power reduced, nobody could have forced her to abide by the rules. But she had given her word. And she was a fortuneteller. So issues of honor aside, she knew the value of words. Giving her word was not something that she took lightly. Madame Baba had made her fortune off her words. It would ruin her reputation and her business, if she told a lie. So Madame Baba had enforced the bargain on herself. For three hundred years. To protect her husbands soul and to keep the demon trapped in the jar. To keep the world safe. She'd seen the alternatives. And also...

Disowning her children had been somewhat difficult but the truth was that she been curious to see how her extended family would manage without her. And the result was... Eh. There was good and bad. Some of her relatives had done better than others. But the surviving descendants... They had grown. They had learned. They were, for the most part, fine. They could take care of themselves.

Madame Baba fidgeted. She was wealthy. She was a spellcaster. When her kids had lived at home, they had been spoiled. So had the first few batches of grandkids. Anything they'd wanted, whether or not they deserved it... She had been able to give them everything. That which couldn't be arranged with money could be arranged with magic. Yes, Madame Baba had known better. She was psychic. She had seen their futures. But sometimes, in spite of the warnings, her maternal instincts had gotten the better of her. She'd followed her heart instead of her brain and had spoiled them anyway. So some of the kids that she'd raised had turned into greedy vindictive tyrants. Some of them had even been dangerous. Mutaito, her husband, had needed to deal with some of them. Punish them. Teach them. That had been painful to witness. Next to that... Disowning the whole bunch... Really hadn't been so bad.

The responsibility for disciplining the kids had always fallen to her husband. Madame Baba was, even in her own family, The Absolute Last Resort. Her children couldn't have survived her.

She sipped her tea and helped herself to another cookie.

Her students probably couldn't survive her either. Still. It had been interesting. Madame Baba had enjoyed being a teacher. Tao Pai Pai... Well. That had been fun. Imagine. The Crane Master had been grumpy, suspicious and paranoid even before his own little brother comes home one day, claiming to have been trained by a legend. And not just any legend but Mutaito. And it wasn't just talk, Tao had been able to demonstrate some of the techniques. The Crane Master had never been a great student but he'd recognized the style. And the Crane Master had been there, to witness with his own eyes that Mutaito was dead. He'd been happy to see Mutaito dead. He'd felt rejected by that teacher. So... Yeah. Secretly accepting Tao as a student had basically been a way to get on the Crane Masters nerves. A subtle but constant way to remind him of the enemies he'd made. Make him even more paranoid, suspicious and grumpy.

But Madame Baba wasn't just a witch, assassin and fortuneteller. She was a mom. She was a grandma, many times over. Tao had lived to be nearly three hundred years old but when he'd first come in search of training, he'd been a child. A little kid. Maybe around the age of eight. And the main reason that Tao had needed to leave home to search for training... The Crane Master had been a jerk but he was all the family that Tao had ever known. None of their other relatives had been interested in being associated with them. So... If Tao had chosen to kill his elder brother, that would have been okay. That would have been his choice. Tempting as it had occasionally been to just reduce the Crane Master to a pile of ashes or something... No. The loss would have hurt Tao. Madame Baba couldn't have been the one to take away the kids only family. Sentiments aside, such actions could have been risky. Because killing the Crane Master would have ended the bargain and restored her to full power. So Tao might have noticed. Tao might have figured it out. And Tao had always been so confident... He might have turned against her. Might have even tried to avenge his brother. Might have demanded a fight to the death. And that would have been his funeral. Literally.

Madame Baba was capable of killing immortals. So of course destroying her own student - who, no matter how skilled, had still been mortal - wouldn't have been a problem but... She had chosen not to put herself in that type of situation. Accepting challenges from students, that was different. You had to let them challenge. It was good, if they made it to the point where they could offer a challenge. But actually burying your own students... Meh. It was not a positive reflection on the teacher when that sort of thing happened.

In the end, accepting the wretched bargain had been a good test for her. Madame Baba had learned to make do even without her full power. Which meant that what she could do now, with her full power restored, was vastly increased. It had been an equally good test for her to accept Tao as a student. Because having a student was not so different from raising a kid. And Madame Baba felt that perhaps she hadn't really done so great, with more than few of her own kids. With Tao, she judged that she'd done all right. Because she hadn't spoiled Tao. She hadn't given him everything. She had told him parts of the truth but never the whole truth. And she certainly hadn't taught him all that she was capable of teaching. He'd become infamous enough, without that. It had been rewarding to watch him grow up.

And also... Her other students. A triclops and a psychic. Not the kinds of creatures that could be trained directly by someone with her power. Because even a non-psychic triclops would probably faint if she didn't make a constant effort to suppress her aura. And battles between psychics tended to end in stalemates. So having influence over Tao had been useful. Having influence over even the cyborgnetic version of Tao, that had been useful. Because it had given her a way to train her other students, indirectly.

The samurai was not her student. No. The samurai was Korins apprentice. Madame Baba tended to regard the immortal white cat as a rival. So she took a special interest in anyone that her rival trained. Because having some influence over her the students of her rival could be useful, too. And, on that subject... Korin was not her only rival.

Secretly accepting students at all... Along with allowing the Crane Master to remain alive... Other reasons aside, that had been a not-so-subtle way of getting on her own little brothers nerves. Roshi probably suspected this. If he didn't already then he would, soon. Madame Baba didn't compare herself to other mortals very often. Roshi was the exception. It was an ancient sibling rivarly. Madame Baba respected her brother - sometimes - but she did have a competitive streak. Why should Roshi get all the credit? He'd lived in isolation for so long, just lazing around on that tropical island of his. Madame Baba did understand that Roshi going into isolation in the first place was more than partly her fault but still... She frequently disapproved of her brothers easygoing lifestyle. The fact that he had become so accomplished without much apparent effort sometimes disturbed her. She had worked hard. She had endured so much. She had made a lot of sacrifices. Why should Roshi be the only one to have legendary students?

Just then, Madame Baba heard the snoring.

The snoring got louder.

_...why that clever little..._ The witch chuckled. She dusted a few crumbs from her black robes, stood on her crystal ball and directed her attention towards Earth. "Very nice!"

Chaozu was not in the afterlife. Not physically. No. Physically, he was alive and on Earth. Nevertheless he was aware of the spoken compliment. He ignored it. Chaozu was worried for his friends. He couldn't detect their energies or connect with their minds. He couldn't see their futures. So he had decided, after recovering from the initial headaches and grief, that he really had to do something. He couldn't just sit around being depressed and waiting to see if everything would be okay. He wanted to know. He was accustomed to knowing. And so... After putting on an oversized hat and a few other blessed pieces of clothing, to help shield his mind... After considering all of his opinions... Chaozu knew that there wasn't much that he could do... but... There was something he had to try.

The soul of the planet snored. The heavenly mountains - the Celestial Rocks - amplified the sound. Chaozu was using the mountain range like a stereo system to project the sound directly into the afterlife.

The witch was still holding a teacup. She had not reached for her paper fan. "Impressive." She was not being sarcastic. She was a little impressed. Harnessing natural forces like mountain ranges did require some talent. And the pale warrior had caught on fairly quickly, he'd only figured out the mountain ranges special qualities a few days ago. Still. Madame Baba took a sip of tea to make it clear that she did not feel threatened. The snoring might get annoying after awhile but it was just noise. It wasn't going to hurt anything.

Chaozu made some telepathic adjustments. The volume and pitch of the snore changed.

The teacup cracked.

Madame Uranai Baba frowned. Predicting the future was extra tricky around another skilled psychic. She could guess what the pale warrior might do next but if she thought about it then he would know... And vice versa. This was why battles between psychics tended to end in stalemates. Both warriors would be so caught up in trying to out-predict the other that nothing got done, expect for inducing a shared headache. For better or worse, Madame Baba had some experience at avoiding this kind of trap. She shrugged, tossed the broken cup away and snapped her fingers. A new teacup appeared. "Don't forget, I'm a witch." She advised. She snapped her fingers again and took a pair of earplugs out of thin air. Just in time.

Chaozu found the note that he'd been searching for and projected it at full volume.

The crystal ball cracked. Since Madame Baba was standing on the crystal ball, she noticed instantly. The magic was leaking out around her feet. If she hadn't been wrapped in many layers of protective spells then her own feet might have changed species and wandered off without the rest of her.

_Yes, Madame._ Chaozu had accomplished more than he'd expected to but tried not to let this show. _And I was an Emperor once. Don't forget._

He was prepared to let the connection drop. Retreating seemed wise. Chaozu didn't expect for the witch to have a reaction that he could survive and he didn't want to be around - not even just mentally - if the crystal ball exploded or something. But... The mountain range being projected into the afterlife actually got more solid. There was an energy traveling up through the rocks and roots.

There was a voice that came with the energy. It wasn't a voice that Chaozu recognized and it wasn't loud but it echoed the last two words that he'd telepathically spoken.

_Don't forget._ thought Lotus.

And then another unique voice echoed those words again.

"Don't forget." Meiji approached. She did not sneak. She had never quite gotten the hang of sneaking. Because... And this was also the reason her voice was unusual... She was the soul of a place. Therefore, she did not have a constant form. Not exactly. Meiji was humanoid, most of the time but her features were in a constant state of flux. Because although Meiji was an individual, she also represented something that had belonged to a whole population. So looking at her, as her features changed, was a bit like glimpsing that whole population. When she spoke, her voice had the sound of many voices. Her stance, her tone... Meiji stood in the cloudscape and made her intentions clear. She had been an Empire, once. And she had chosen a side, before. She was prepared to choose a side again, if need be.

Madame Baba smiled. She didn't mind being surprised. She didn't get to be surprised very often. "Hmf. I see." She fluttered her fan and repaired the crystal ball. She considered her targets.

Attack one of her own students - sure. Why not? She would have to be careful about it, wouldn't need go all out... But the pale warrior had to learn to better defend himself somehow, right? Had to learn to have more respect for his teacher, too. Had to learn that she WAS his teacher. He might not be consciously aware of that yet. The witch had blocked the knowledge from his mind, as well. As for other targets... Attack the mysterious but almost-remembered and definitely immortal creature that was harnessing the mountain range now - maybe. That could be interesting. But attack the soul of a former empire - no. Because the witch served the goddess. And the goddess was the soul of the planet Earth. And the empire had been a place on Earth. So even if this particular empire didn't exist anymore... Meiji probably still had a connection with the Earth. It was possible that attacking Meiji might result in the goddess being injured. Loyalty and honor issues aside, injuring the planet would damage the ability for life to exist on Earth. Which would be, among other things, bad for business. So that was not a risk which Madame Baba currently wished to take.

But... She didn't have to tell anyone that. She didn't even have to think it. Because Madame Baba had been alive for so many years that she had come to view life as a game. Poker, that was her game. That was her style of play. She liked poker. Because no matter what cards you were dealt, you could find a way to win. As long as you were smart and stubborn... As long as you knew when to bluff and when to call someone elses bluff... As long as you could afford to raise the stakes once in awhile... And, of course, it never hurt to have a few extra cards up your sleeve.

**ooxoo**


End file.
